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GUY MANNERING 

OR THE ASTROLOGER 


BY 

SIR WALTER SCOTT 

BART. 


jen0li0b (Tomebie t)umaine 

Masterpieces of the great English novelists 
in which are portrayed the varying aspects 
of English life from the time of Addison 
to the present day : a series analogous to 
that in which Balzac depicted the manners 
and morals of his French contemporaries 

¥ 

fivet Series 

TWELVE VOLUMES 

¥ 

LIST OF TITLES AND AUTHORS 


2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

7 

8 

9 

10 

1 1 
12 


Sir Roger de Coverley 


I 


The Vicar of Wakefield. 
The Man of Feeling 
Pamela .... 

Joseph Andrews 
Humphry Clinker . 

Pride and Prejudice 
Guy Mannering 

CONINGSBY 

The Caxtons 
Jane Eyre . . 

It is Neyer too Late to 
Mend .... 

Adam Bede . 

Barchester Towers 


Joseph Addison and 
Richard Steele 
Oliver Goldsmith 
He7try Mackenzie 
Samuel Richardson 
Henry Fielding 
Tobias Sfnollett 
Jane A usteji 
Sir Walter Scott 
Benjamin Disraeli 
Bulwer Lytton 
Charlotte Bronte 

Charles Reade 
George Eliot 
Anthony Trollope 






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4 


The Attack on the Smugglers 












XTbe BnaUsb Comefbfe Ibumatne 


GUY MANNERING 

OR 

THE ASTROLOGER 


BY 

SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 


’ Tis said that words and signs have power 
O’er sprites in planetary hour; 

But scarce I praise their venturous part. 
Who tamper with such dangerous art. 

Lay of the Last Minstrel. 



NEW YORK 

Zhc Centura (to. 

1902 





THE LJBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

T>«0 Cowtei RE;OaiKQ> 

ore, s 

OopvowHo- rwmv 
CLAR^LXcXXc No 

oorv 8. 


Copyright, 1902, by 
The Century Co. 


Published November, igo2. 


< < C c c 


• « • 
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• • • 
• • 
• • • 


PUBLISHERS’ NOTE 


Guy Mannering,” the immediate successor of ‘^Waverley,” 
was published in 1815. By many of the ablest judges it is con- 
sidered the best of Scott’s novels, with the possible exception of 
the next in the series, ‘‘The Antiquary.” But however that 
may be, it is certainly among the first, and is surpassed by none 
of them in many of the qualities which have given the “Wizard 
of the North” his title to fame. When it was composed he was 
in his prime and wrote from a full and unwearied mind, and in 
it all the freshness and early vigor of his genius are reflected. A 
few years later began that struggle for money — at first for his 
own sake and then for the sake of his creditors — which impaired 
the quality of his work and in the end exhausted his intellect. 
He was born in 1771 and died in 1832. 

The scene of “ Guy Mannering ” js placed about the middle 
of the eighteenth century, but the work is not, in the proper 
sense of the phrase, a historical novel. The faint trace of history 
that appears in it in no way contributes to its excellence, and 
affects in a very slight degree its character. It is, in a word, 
more perhaps than any other of the Waverley novels, a study of 
character and manners, and as such it is included in this series. 
The genius displayed by Scott in this direction has been obscured 
by his fame as the perfecter of historical fiction. It is now, how- 
ever, clearly recognized, and it is likely to be the permanent 
foundation of his reputation. As Taine says: “ By his funda- 
mental honesty and his broad humanity, he was the Homer of 
modern citizen life. Around and after him, the novel of man- 
ners, separated from the historical romance, has produced a 
whole literature, and preserved the character which he stamped 
upon it.” 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Attack on the Smugglers Frontispiece 

From an engraving by C. Armstrong after the drawing by F. C. Zietter. 

^ FACING PAGE 

Julia Mannering io8 

From an engraving by C. E. Wagstaff after the painting by J. Inskipp. 

^‘Prodigious!” 134 

From an engraving by A. Duncan after the painting by C. R. Leslie, R. A. 

Dandie Dinmont 158 

From an engraving by Sly after the drawing by Sir W. Allan, R. A. 

“They are Coming” 178 

From an engraving by Chas. Heath after the drawing by H. Corbould. 

MAC-GUFFOG 220 

From an engraving by O. Smith after the drawing by Lauder. 

Pleydell in High Jinks 250 

Fron^i>engraving by Jas. Mitchell after the painting by William Kidd. 


% 



INTRODUCTION 


The Novel or Romance of Waver ley made its way to the pub- 
lic slowly, of course, at first, but afterwards with such accu- 
mulating popularity as to encourage the Author to a second 
attempt. He looked about for a name and a subject; and 
the manner in which the novels were composed cannot be bet- 
ter illustrated than by reciting the simple narrative on which 
Guy Mannering was originally founded ; but to which, in the 
progress of the work, the production ceased to bear any, even 
the most distant resemblance. The tale was originally told 
me by an old servant of my father’s, an excellent old High- 
lander, without a fault, unless a preference to mountain dew 
over less potent liquors be accounted one. He believed as 
firmly in the story as in any part of his creed. 

A grave and elderly person, according to old John Mac- 
Kinlay’s account, while travelling in the wilder parts of Gal- 
loway, was benighted. With difficulty he found his way to a 
country seat, where, with the hospitality of the time and 
country, he was readily admitted. The owner of the house, a 
gentleman of good fortune, was much struck by the reverend 
appearance of his guest, and apologised to him for a certain 
degree of confusion which must unavoidably attend his re- 
ception, and could not escape his eye. The lady of the house 
was, he said, confined to her apartment, and on the point of 
making her husband a father for the first time, though they 
had been ten years married. At such an emergency, the Laird 
said, he feared his guest might meet with some apparent 
neglect. 

' Not so, sir,’ said the stranger ; ' my wants are few, and 


IX 


INTRODUCTION 


easily supplied, and I trust the present circumstances may 
even afford an opportunity of showing my gratitude for your 
hospitality. Let me only request that I may be informed of 
the exact minute of the birth; and I hope to be able to put 
you in possession of some particulars which may influence in 
an important manner the future prospects of the child now 
about to come into this busy and changeful world. I will not 
conceal from you that I am skilful in understanding and in- 
terpreting the movements of those planetary bodies which ex- 
ert their influences on the destiny of mortals. It is a science 
which I do not practise, like others who call themselves as- 
trologers, for hire or reward; for I have a competent estate, 
and only use the knowledge I possess for the benefit of those 
in whom I feel an interest.^ The Laird bowed in respect 
and gratitude, and the stranger was accommodated with an 
apartment which commanded an ample view of the astral 
regions. 

The guest spent a part of the night in ascertaining the 
position of the heavenly bodies, and calculating their probable 
influence ; until at length the result of his observations induced 
him to send for the father and conjure him in the most 
solemn manner to cause the assistants to retard the birth if 
practicable, were it but for five minutes. The answer declared 
this to be impossible ; and almost in the instant that the mes- 
sage was returned the father and his guest were made ac- 
quainted with the birth of a boy. 

The astrologer on the morrow met the party who gathered 
around the breakfast table with looks so grave and ominous 
as to alarm the fears of the father, who had hitherto exulted 
in the prospects held out by the birth of an heir to his ancient 
property, failing which event it must have passed to a dis- 
tant branch of the family. He hastened to draw the stranger 
into a private room. 

‘ I fear from your looks,’ said the father, ‘ that you have bad 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


tidings to tell me of my young stranger; perhaps God will 
resume the blessing He has bestowed ere he attains the age 
of manhood, or perhaps he is destined to be unworthy of the 
affection which we are naturally disposed to devote to our 
offspring ? " 

‘Neither the one nor the other,’ answered the stranger; 

‘ unless my judgment greatly err, the infant will survive the 
years of minority, and in temper and disposition will prove all 
that his parents can wish. But with much in his horoscope 
which promises many blessings, there is one evil influence 
strongly predominant, which threatens to subject him to an 
unhallowed and unhappy temptation about the time when he 
shall attain the age of twenty-one, which period, the constel- 
lations intimate, will be the crisis of his fate. In what shape, 
or with what peculiar urgency, this temptation may beset him, 
my art cannot discover.’ 

‘ Your knowledge, then, can afford us no defence,’ said the 
anxious father, ‘ against the threatened evil ? ’ 

‘ Pardon me,’ answered the stranger, ‘ it can. The influence 
of the constellations is powerful; but He who made the hea- 
vens is more powerful than all, if His aid be invoked in sin- 
cerity and truth. You ought to dedicate this boy to the imme- 
diate service of his Maker, with as much sincerity as Samuel 
was devoted to the worship in the Temple by his parents. 

You must regard him as a being separated from the rest 
of the world. In childhood, in boyhood, you must surround 
him with the pious and virtuous, and protect him to the utmost 
of your power from the sight or hearing of any license in 
word or action. He must be educated in religious and moral ^ 
principles of the strictest description. Let him not enter the 
world, lest he learn to partake of its follies, or perhaps of its 
vices. In short, preserve him as far as possible from all sin, 
save that of which too great a portion belongs to all the fallen 
race of Adam. With the approach of his twenty-first birth- 


XI 


INTRODUCTION 


day comes the crisis of his fate. If he survive it, he Avill be 
happy and prosperous on earth, and a chosen vessel among 

those elected for heaven. But if it be otherwise ’ The 

Astrologer stopped, and sighed deeply. 

‘ Sir,' replied the parent, still more alarmed than before, 
' your words are so kind, your advice so serious, that I will 
pay the deepest attention to your behests; but can you not 
aid me farther in this most important concern? Believe me, 
I will not be ungrateful.' 

‘ I require and deserve no gratitude for doing a good 
action,' said the stranger, ‘ in especial for contributing all that 
lies in my power to save from an abhorred fate the harmless 
infant to whom, under a singular conjunction of planets, last 
night gave life. There is my address ; you may write to me 
from time to time concerning the progress of the boy in 
religious knowledge. If he be bred up as I advise, I think 
it will be best that he come to my house at the time when the 
fatal and decisive period approaches, that is, before he has 
attained his twenty-first year complete. If you send him such 
as I desire, I humbly trust that God will protect His own 
through whatever strong temptation his fate may subject him 
to.' He then gave his host his address, which was a country 
seat near a post town in the south of England, and bid him 
an affectionate farewell. 

The mysterious stranger departed, but his words remained 
impressed upon the mind of the anxious parent. He lost his 
lady while his boy was still in infancy. This calamity, I 
think, had been predicted by the Astrologer ; and thus his con- 
fidence, which, like most people of the period, he had freely 
given to the science, was riveted and confirmed. The utmost 
care, therefore, was taken to carry into effect the severe and 
almost ascetic plan of education which the sage had enjoined. 
A tutor of the strictest principles was employed to superintend 
the youth's education ; he was surrounded by domestics of the 

xii 


INTRODUCTION 


most established character, and closely watched and looked 
after by the anxious father himself. 

The years of infancy, childhood, and boyhood passed as the 
father could have wished. A young Nazarene could not have 
been bred up with more rigour. All that was evil was with- 
held from his observation : he only heard what was pure in 
precept, he only witnessed what was worthy in practice. 

But when the boy began to be lost in the youth, the at- 
tentive father saw cause for alarm. Shades of sadness, which 
gradually assumed a darker character, began to overcloud the 
young man’s temper. Tears, which seemed involuntary, 
broken sleep, moonlight wanderings, and a melancholy for 
which he could assign no reason, seemed to threaten at once 
his bodily health and the stability of his mind. The Astrologer 
was consulted by letter, and returned for answer that this 
fitful state of mind was but the commencement of his trial, 
and that the poor youth must undergo worse and more des- 
perate struggles with the evil that assailed him. There was 
no hope of remedy, save that he showed steadiness of mind 
in the study of the Scriptures. ‘ He suffers,’ continued the 
letter of the sage, " from the awakening of those harpies, the 
passions, which have slept with him, as with others, till the 
period of life which he has now attained. Better, far better, 
that they torment him by ungrateful cravings than that 
he should have to repent having satiated them by criminal 
indulgence.’ 

The dispositions of the young man were so excellent that 
he combated, by reason and religion, the fits of gloom which 
at times overcast his mind, and it was not till he attained the 
commencement of his twenty-first year that they assumed a 
character which made his father tremble for the consequences. 
It seemed as if the gloomiest and most hideous of mental 
maladies was taking the form of religious despair. Still the 
youth was gentle, courteous, affectionate, and submissive to 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 


his father’s will, and resisted with all his power the dark 
suggestions which were breathed into his mind, as it seemed 
by some emanation of the Evil Principle, exhorting him, like 
the wicked wife of Job, to curse God and die. 

The time at length arriv^ when he was to perform what 
was then thought a long and somewhat perilous journey, to 
the mansion of the early friend who had calculated his nativity. 
His road lay through several places of interest, and he en- 
joyed the amusement of travelling more than he himself 
thought would have been possible. Thus he did not reach 
the place of his destination till noon on the day preceding his 
birthday. It seemed as if he had been carried away with an 
unwonted tide of pleasurable sensation, so as to forget in some 
degree what his father had communicated concerning the pur- 
pose of his journey. He halted at length before a respectable 
but solitary old mansion, to which he was directed as the 
abode of his father’s friend. 

The servants who came to take his horse told him he had 
been expected for two days. He was led into a study, where 
the stranger, now a venerable old man, who had been his 
father’s guest, met him with a shade of displeasure, as well 
as gravity, on his brow. ‘ Young man,’ he said, ^ wherefore 
so slow on a journey of such importance?’ H thought/ re- 
plied the guest, blushing and looking downward, ‘ that there 
was no harm in travelling slowly and satisfying my curiosity, 
providing I could reach your residence by this day; for such 
was my father’s charge.’ ' You were to blame,’ replied the 
sage, ‘ in lingering, considering that the avenger of blood was 
pressing on your footsteps. But you are come at last, and we 
will hope for the best, though the conflict in which you are to 
be engaged will be found more dreadful the longer it is post- 
poned. But first accept of such refreshments as nature re- 
quires to satisfy, but not to pamper, the appetite.’ 

The old man led the way into a summer parlour, where a 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


frugal meal was placed on the table. As they sat down to the 
board they were joined by a young lady about eighteen years 
of age, and so lovely that the sight of her carried off the 
feelings of the young stranger from the peculiarity and mys- 
tery of his own lot, and riveted his attention to everything she 
did or said. She spoke little, and it was on the most serious 
subjects. She played on the harpsichord at her father’s com- 
mand, but it was hymns with which she accompanied the 
instrument. At length, on a sign from the sage, she left 
the room, bending on the young stranger as she departed 
a look of inexpressible anxiety and interest. 

The old man then conducted the youth to his study, and 
conversed with him upon the most important points of religion, 
to satisfy himself that he could render a reason for the faith 
that was in him. During the examination the youth, in spite 
of himself, felt his mind occasionally wander, and his recol- 
lections go in quest of the beautiful vision who had shared 
their meal at noon. On such occasions the Astrologer looked 
grave, and shook his head at this relaxation of attention ; yet, 
on the whole, he was pleased with the youth’s replies. 

At sunset the young man was made to take the bath; and, 
having done so, he was directed to attire himself in a robe 
somewhat like that worn by Armenians, having his long hair 
combed down on his shoulders, and his neck, hands, and feet 
bare. In this guise he was conducted into a remote chamber 
totally devoid of furniture, excepting a lamp, a chair, and a 
table, on which lay a Bible. ^ Here,’ said the Astrologer, ‘ I 
must leave you alone to pass the most critical period of your 
life. If you can, by recollection of the great truths of 'which 
we have spoken, repel the attacks which will be made on your 
courage and your principles, you have nothing to apprehend. 
But the trial will be severe and arduous.’ His features then 
assumed a pathetic solemnity, the tears stood in his eyes, and 
his voice faltered with emotion as he said, ‘ Dear child, at 


XV 


INTRODUCTION 


whose coming into the world I foresaw this fatal trial, may 
God give thee grace to support it with firmness ! ’ 

The young man was left alone ; and hardly did he find 
himself so, when, like a swarm of demons, the recollection 
of all his sins of omission and commission, rendered even 
more terrible by the scrupulousness with which he had been 
educated, rushed on his mind, and, like furies armed with 
fiery scourges, seemed determined to drive him to despair. 
As he combated these horrible recollections with distracted 
feelings, but with a resolved mind, he became aware that his 
arguments were answered by the sophistry of another, and 
that the dispute was no longer confined to his own thoughts. 
The Author of Evil was present in the room with him in 
bodily shape, and, potent with spirits of a melancholy cast, 
was impressing upon him the desperation of his state, and 
urging suicide as the readiest mode to put an end to his sin- 
ful career. Amid his errors, the pleasure he had taken in pro- 
longing his journey unnecessarily, and the attention which he 
had bestowed on the beauty of the fair female when his 
thoughts ought to have been dedicated to the religious dis- 
course of her father, were set before him in the darkest 
colours ; and he was treated as one who, having sinned against 
light, was therefore deservedly left a prey to the Prince of 
Darkness. 

As the fated and influential hour rolled on, the terrors of 
the hateful Presence grew more confounding to the mortal 
senses of the victim, and the knot of the accursed sophistry 
became more inextricable in appearance, at least to the prey 
whom its meshes surrounded. He had not power to explain 
the assurance of pardon which he continued to assert, or to 
name the victorious name in which he trusted. But his faith 
did not abandon him, though he lacked for a time the power 
of expressing it. ‘ Say what you will,’ was his answer to the 
Tempter ; ‘ I know there is as much betwixt the two boards of 


xvi 


INTRODUCTION 


this Book as can ensure me forgiveness for my transgressions 
and safety for my soul/ As he spoke, the clock, which an- 
nounced the lapse of the fatal hour, was heard to strike. The 
speech and intellectual powers of the youth were instantly 
and fully restored ; he burst forth into prayer, and expressed 
in the most glowing terms his reliance on the truth and on 
the Author of the Gospel. The demon retired, yelling and 
discomfited, and the old man, entering the apartment, with 
tears congratulated his guest on his victory in the fated 
struggle. 

The young man was afterwards married to the beautiful 
maiden, the first sight of whom had made such an impression 
on him, and they were consigned over at the close of the 
story to domestic happiness. So ended John Mac-Kinlay’s 
legend.* 

The Author of Waver ley had imagined a possibility of 
framing an interesting, and perhaps not an unedifying, tale 
out of the incidents of the life of a doomed individual, whose 
efforts at good and virtuous conduct were to be for ever dis- 
appointed by the intervention, as it were, of some malevolent 
being, and who was at last to come off victorious from the 
fearful struggle. In short, something was meditated upon a 
plan resembling the imaginative tale of Sintram and his Com- 
panions, by Mons. Le Baron de la Motte Fouque, although, 
if it then existed, the author had not seen it. 

The scheme projected may be traced in the three or four 
first chapters of the work; but farther consideration induced 
the author to lay his purpose aside. It appeared, on mature 
consideration, that astrology, though its influence was once 
received and admitted by Bacon himself, does not now retain 
influence over the general mind sufficient even to constitute 
the mainspring of a romance. Besides, it occurred that to do 
justice to such a subject would have required not only more 

* See Lockhart’s Life of Scott, vol. v. pp. 5, 35, 397 (1862). 
xvii 


INTRODUCTION 


talent than the Author could be conscious of possessing, but 
also involved doctrines and discussions of a nature too serious 
for his purpose and for the character of the narrative. In 
changing his plan, however, which was done in the course 
of printing, the early sheets retained the vestiges of the origi- 
nal tenor of the story, although they now hang upon it as an 
unnecessary and unnatural incumbrance. The cause of such 
vestiges occurring is now explained and apologised for. 

It is here worthy of observation that, while the astrological 
doctrines have fallen into general contempt, and been sup- 
planted by superstitions of a more gross and far less beau- 
tiful character, they have, even in modern days, retained some 
votaries. 

One of the most remarkable believers in that forgotten and 
despised science was a late eminent professor of the art of 
legerdemain. One would have thought that a person of this 
description ought, from his knowledge of the thousand ways 
in which human eyes could be deceived, to have been less 
than others subject to the fantasies of superstition. Perhaps 
the habitual use of those abstruse calculations by which, in a 
manner surprising to the artist himself, many tricks upon 
cards, etc., are performed, induced this gentleman to study 
the combination of the stars and planets, with the expectation 
of obtaining prophetic annunciations. 

He constructed a scheme of his own nativity, calculated 
according to such rules of art as he could collect from the 
best astrological authors. The result of the past he found 
agreeable to what had hitherto befallen him, but in the im- 
portant prospect of the future a singular difficulty occurred. 
There were two years during the course of which he could by 
no means obtain any exact knowledge whether the subject 
of the scheme would be dead or alive. Anxious concerning 
so remarkable a circumstance, he gave the scheme to a brother 
astrologer, who was also baffled in the same manner. At one 

xviii 


INTRODUCTION 


period he found the native, or subject, was certainly alive; at 
another that he was unquestionably dead; but a space of two 
years extended between these two terms, during which he 
could find no certainty as to his death or existence. 

The astrologer marked the remarkable circumstance in his 
diary, and continued his exhibitions in various parts of the 
empire until the period was about to expire during which his 
existence had been warranted as actually ascertained. At last, 
while he was exhibiting to a numerous audience his usual 
tricks of legerdemain, the hands whose activity had so often 
baffled the closest observer suddenly lost their power, the cards 
dropped from them, and he sunk down a disabled paralytic. 
In this state the artist languished for two years, when he was 
at length removed by death. It is said that the diary of this 
modern astrologer will soon be given to the public. 

The fact, if truly reported, is one of those singular coin- 
cidences which occasionally appear, differing so widely from 
ordinary calculation, yet without which irregularities human 
life would not present to mortals, looking into futurity, the 
abyss of impenetrable darkness which it is the pleasure of 
the Creator it should offer to them. Were everything to hap- 
pen in the ordinary train of events, the future would be sub- 
ject to the rules of arithmetic, like the chances of gaming. 
But extraordinary events and wonderful runs of luck defy the 
calculations of mankind and throw impenetrable darkness on 
future contingencies. 

To the above anecdote, another, still more recent, may be 
here added. The author was lately honoured with a letter 
from a gentleman deeply skilled in these mysteries, who 
kindly undertook to calculate the nativity of the writer of 
Guy Mannering, who might be supposed to be friendly to the 
divine art which he professed. But it was impossible to sup- 
ply data for the construction of the horoscope, had the native 
been otherwise desirous of it, since all those who could supply 


XIX 


INTRODUCTION 


the minutiae of day, hour, and minute have been long removed 
from the mortal sphere. 

Having thus given some account of the first idea, or rude 
sketch, of the story, which was soon departed from, the Au- 
thor, in following out the plan of the present edition, has to 
mention the prototypes of the principal characters in Guy 
Mannering. 

Some circumstances of local situation gave the Author in 
his youth an opportunity of seeing a little, and hearing a great | 
deal, about that degraded class who are called gipsies ; who | 
are in most cases a mixed race between the ancient Egyptians | 
who arrived in Europe about the beginning of the fifteenth | 
century and vagrants of European descent. I 

The individual gipsy upon whom the character of Meg j 
Merrilies was founded was well known about the middle of 
the last century by the name of Jean Gordon, an inhabitant ’ 
of the village of Kirk Yetholm, in the Cheviot Hills, adjoining 
to the English Border. The Author gave the public some 
account of this remarkable person in one of the early numbers 
of Blackwood’s Magazine, to the following purpose : — 

‘ My father remembered old Jean Gordon of Yetholm, who 
had great sway among her tribe. She was quite a Meg Mer- 
rilies, and possessed the savage virtue of fidelity in the same 
perfection. Having been often hospitably received at the 
farmhouse of Lochside, near Yetholm, she had carefully ab- 
stained from committing any depredations on the farmer’s 
property. But her sons (nine in number) had not, it seems, 
the same delicacy, and stole a brood-sow from their kind en- 
tertainer. Jean was so much mortified at this ungrateful con- 
duct, and so much ashamed of it, that she absented herself 
from Lochside for several years. 

‘ It happened in course of time that, in consequence of some 
temporary pecuniary necessity, the goodman of Lochside was 
obliged to go to Newcastle to raise some money to pay his 


XX 


INTRODUCTION 


rent. He succeeded in his purpose, but, returning through the 
mountains of Cheviot, he was benighted and lost his way. 

‘ A light glimmering through the window of a large waste 
barn, which had survived the farm-house to which it had once 
belonged, guided him to a place of shelter; and when he 
knocked at the door it was opened by Jean Gordon. Her 
very remarkable figure, for she was nearly six feet high, and 
her equally remarkable features and dress, rendered it impos- 
sible to mistake her for a moment, though he had not seen her 
for years ; and to meet with such a character in so solitary a 
place, and probably at no great distance from her clan, was 
a grievous surprise to the poor man, whose rent (to lose which 
would have been ruin) was about his person. 

' Jean set up a loud shout of joyful recognition — Eh, sirs ! 
the winsome gudeman of Lochside ! Light down, light down ; 
for ye maunna gang farther the night, and a friend’s house 
sae near.” The farmer was obliged to dismount and accept 
of the gipsy’s ofifer of supper and a bed. There was plenty 
of meat in the barn, however it might be come by, and prepa- 
rations were going on for a plentiful repast, which the farmer, 
to the great increase of his anxiety, observed was calculated 
for ten or twelve guests, of the same description, probably, 
with his landlady. 

'Jean left him in no doubt on the subject. She brought 
to his recollection the story of the stolen sow, and mentioned 
how much pain and vexation it had given her. Like other 
philosophers, she remarked that the world grew worse daily; 
and, like other parents, that the bairns got out of her guiding, 
and neglected the old gipsy regulations, which commanded 
them to respect in their depredations the property of their 
benefactors. The end of all this was an inquiry what money 
the farmer had about him; and an urgent request, or com- 
mand, that he would make her his purse-keeper, since the 
bairns, as she called her sons, would be soon home. The 


XXI 


INTRODUCTION 


poor farmer made a virtue of necessity, told his story, and sur- 
rendered his gold to Jean’s custody. She made him put 
a few shillings in his pocket, observing, it would excite sus- 
picion should he be found travelling altogether penniless. 

' This arrangement being made, the farmer lay down on a 
sort of shake-down, as the Scotch call it, or bed-clothes dis- 
posed upon some straw, but, as will easily be believed, slept not 

‘About midnight the gang returned, with various articles 
of plunder, and talked over their exploits in language which 
made the farmer tremble. They were not long in discovering 
they had a guest, and demanded of Jean whom she had got 
there. 

‘ “ E’en the winsome gudeman of Lochside, poor body,” 
replied Jean; “ he’s been at Newcastle seeking for siller to pay 
his rent, honest man, but deil-be-lickit he’s been able to gather 
in, and sae he’s gaun e’en hame wi’ a toom purse and a sair 
heart.” 

‘ “ That may be, Jean,” replied one of the banditti, “ but 
we maun ripe his pouches a bit, and see if the tale be true 
or no.” Jean set up her throat in exclamations against this 
breach of hospitality, but without producing any change in 
their determination. The farmer soon heard their stifled whis- 
pers and light steps by his bedside, and understood they were 
rummaging his clothes. When they found the money which 
the providence of Jean Gordon had made him retain, they held 
a consultation if they should take it or no ; but the smallness 
of the booty, and the vehemence of Jean’s remonstrances, 
determined them in the negative. They caroused and went to 
rest. As soon as day dawned Jean roused her guest, produced 
his horse, which she had accommodated behind the hallan, and 
guided him for some miles, till he was on the highroad to 
Lochside. She then restored his whole property; nor could 
his earnest entreaties prevail on her to accept so much as a 
single guinea. 

xxii 


INTRODUCTION 


‘ I have heard the old people at Jedburgh say, that all 
Jean’s sons were condemned to die there on the same day. It 
is said the jury were equally divided, but that a friend to 
justice, who had slept during the whole discussion, waked 
suddenly and gave his vote for condemnation in the emphatic 
words^ “ Hang them a’ ! ” Unanimity is not required in a 
Scottish jury, so the verdict of guilty was returned. Jean was 
present, and only said, “ the Lord help the innocent in a day 
like this ! ” Her own death was accompanied with circum- 
stances of brutal outrage, of which poor Jean was in many 
respects wholly undeserving. She had, among other demerits, 
or merits, as the reader may choose to rank it, that of being 
a stanch Jacobite. She chanced to be at Carlisle upon a fair 
or market-day, soon after the year 1746, where she gave vent 
to her political partiality, to the great offence of the rabble of 
that city. Being zealous in their loyalty when there was no 
danger, in proportion to the tameness with which they had 
surrendered to the Highlanders in 1745, the mob inflicted 
upon poor Jean Gordon no slighter penalty than that of duck- 
ing her to death in the Eden. It was an operation of some 
time, for Jean was a stout woman, and, struggling with her 
murderers, often got her head above water; and, while she 
had voice left, continued to exclaim at such intervals, “ Char- 
lie yet ! Charlie yet ! ” When a child, and among the scenes 
which she frequented, I have often heard these stories, and 
cried piteously for poor Jean Gordon. 

‘ Before quitting the Border gipsies, I may mention that my 
grandfather, while riding over Charterhouse Moor, then a 
very extensive common, fell suddenly among a large band of 
them, who were carousing in a hollow of the moor, surrounded 
by bushes. They instantly seized on his horse’s bridle with 
many shouts of welcome, exclaiming (for he was well known 
to most of them) that they had often dined at his expense, 
and he must now stay and share their good cheer. My an- 

xxiii 


INTRODUCTION 


ccstor was a little alarmed, for, like the goodman of Lochside, j 
he had more money about his person than he cared to risk in 
such society. However, being naturally a bold, lively-spirited 
man, he entered into the humour of the thing and sate down 
to the feast, which consisted of all the varieties of game, poul- 
try, pigs, and so forth that could be collected by a wide and 
indiscriminate system of plunder. The dinner was a very 
merry one ; but my relative got a hint from some of the older 
gipsies to retire just when — 

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious, 

and mounting his horse accordingly, he took a French leave of 
his entertainers, but without experiencing the least breach of 
hospitality. I believe Jean Gordon was at this festival.’ — 
Blackwood’ s Magazine, vol. i. p. 54. 

Notwithstanding the failure of Jean’s issue, for which 

Weary fa’ the waefu’ wuddie, 

a granddaughter survived her, whom I remember to have seen. 
That is, as Dr. Johnson had a shadowy recollection of Queen 
Anne as a stately lady in black, adorned with diamonds, so 
my memory is haunted by a solemn remembrance of a woman 
of more than female height, dressed in a long red cloak, who 
commenced acquaintance by giving me an apple, but 
whom, nevertheless, I looked on with as much awe as the 
future Doctor, High Church and Tory as he was doomed to 
be, could look upon the Queen. I conceive this woman to 
have been Madge Gordon, of whom an impressive account is 
given in the same article in which her grandmother Jean is 
mentioned, but not by the present writer : — 

‘ The late Madge Gordon was at this time accounted the 
Queen of the Yetholm clans. She was, we believe, a grand- 
daughter of the celebrated Jean Gordon, and was said to have 
much resembled her in appearance. The following account 


XXIV 


INTRODUCTION 


of her is extracted from the letter of a friend, who for many 
years enjoyed frequent and favourable opportunities of ob- 
serving the characteristic peculiarities of the Yetholm tribes : 
— “ Madge Gordon was descended from the Faas by the 
mother’s side, and was married to a Young. She was a re- 
markable personage — of a very commanding presence and 
high stature, being nearly six feet high. She had a large 
aquiline nose, penetrating eyes, even in her old age, bushy 
hair, that hung around her shoulders from beneath a gipsy 
bonnet of straw, a short cloak of a peculiar fashion, and a 
long staif nearly as tall as herself. I remember her well; 
every week she paid my father a visit for her awmous when 
I was a little boy, and I looked upon Madge with no com- 
mon degree of awe and terror. When she spoke vehemently 
(for she made loud complaints) she used to strike her staif 
upon the floor and throw herself into an attitude which it was 
impossible to regard with indifference. She used to say that 
she could bring from the remotest parts of the island friends 
to revenge her quarrel while she sat motionless in her cot- 
tage; and she frequently boasted that there was a time when 
she was of still more considerable importance, for there were 
at her wedding fifty saddled asses, and unsaddled asses with- 
out number. If Jean Gordon was the prototype of the char- 
acter of Meg Merrilies, I imagine Madge must have sat to the 
unknown author as the representative of her person f — 
Blackwood's Magazine, vol. i. p. 56. 

How far Blackwood's ingenious correspondent was right, 
how far mistaken, in his conjecture the reader has been in- 
formed. 

To pass to a character of a very different description. Do- 
minie Sampson,*— the reader may easily suppose that a 
poor modest humble scholar who has won his way through 

* The Rev. George Thomson, son of the minister of Melrose, who acted as 
tutor at Abbotsford, was supposed by his friends to have yielded the author 
many personal features for his fictitious character of the Dominie i^Laing). 

XXV 


INTRODUCTION 


the classics, yet has fallen to leeward in the voyage of life, is 
no uncommon personage in a country where a certain portion 
of learning is easily attained by those who are willing to suf- 
fer hunger and thirst in exchange for acquiring Greek and 
Latin. But there is a far more exact prototype of the worthy 
Dominie, upon which is founded the part which he performs | 
in the romance, and which, for certain particular reasons, j 
must be expressed very generally. 1 

Such a preceptor as Mr. Sampson is supposed to have been | 
was actually tutor in the family of a gentleman of considerable | 

i 

property. The young lads, his pupils, grew up and went out j 
in the world, but the tutor continued to reside in the family, 
no uncommon circumstance in Scotland in former days, where 
food and shelter were readily afforded to humble friends and 
dependents. The laird’s predecessors had been imprudent, he 
himself was passive and unfortunate. Death swept away his 
sons, whose success in life might have balanced his own bad 
luck and incapacity. Debts increased and funds diminished, 
until ruin came. The estate was sold; and the old man was I 
about to remove from the house of his fathers to go he knew ' 
not whither, when, like an old piece of furniture, which, left 
alone in its wonted corner, may hold together for a long while, 
but breaks to pieces on an attempt to move it, he fell down on 
his own threshold under a paralytic affection. 

The tutor awakened as from a dream. He saw his patron 
dead, and that his patron’s only remaining child, an elderly 
woman, now neither graceful nor beautiful, if she had ever 
been either the one or the other, had by this calamity become 
a homeless and penniless orphan. He addressed her nearlv 
in the words which Dominie Sampson uses to Miss Bertram, 
and professed his determination not to leave her. Accord- 
ingly, roused to the exercise of talents which had long 
slumbered, he opened a little school and supported his patron’s 
child for the rest of her life, treating her with the same humble 


xxvi 


INTRODUCTION 


observance and devoted attention which he had used towards 
her in the days of her prosperity. 

Such is the outline of Dominie Sampson’s real story, in 
which there is neither romantic incident nor sentimental pas- 
sion; but which, perhaps, from the rectitude and simplicity 
of character which it displays, may interest the heart and fill 
the eye of the reader as irresistibly as if it respected dis- 
tresses of a more dignified or refined character. 

These preliminary notices concerning the tale of Guy Man- 
nering and some of the characters introduced may save the 
author and reader in the present instance the trouble of writ- 
ing and perusing a long string of detached notes. 

Abbotsford, January 1829. 


ADDITIONAL NOTE 

GALWEGIAN LOCALITIES AND PERSONAGES WHICH HAVE BEEN 
SUPPOSED TO BE ALLUDED TO IN THE NOVEL 

An old English proverb says, that more know Tom Fool than 
Tom Fool knows; and the influence of the adage seems to 
extend to works composed under the influence of an idle or 
foolish planet. Many corresponding circumstances are de- 
tected by readers of which the Author did not suspect the ex- 
istence. He must, however, regard it as a great compliment 
that, in detailing incidents purely imaginary, he has been so 
fortunate in approximating reality as to remind his readers 
of actual occurrences. It is therefore with pleasure he notices 
some pieces of local history and tradition which have been 
supposed to coincide with the fictitious persons, incidents, and 
scenery of Guy Mannering. 

The prototype of Dirk Hatteraick is considered as having 
xxvii 


INTRODUCTION 


been a Dutch skipper called Yawkins. This man was well 
known on the coast of Galloway and Dumfries-shire, as sole 
proprietor and master of a buckkar, or smuggling lugger, called 
the ' Black Prince/ Being distinguished by his nautical skill 
and intrepidity, his vessel was frequently freighted, and his 
own services employed, by French, Dutch, Manx, and Scot- 
tish smuggling companies. 

A person well known by the name of Buckkar-tea, from 
having been a noted smuggler of that article, and also by that 
of Bogle Bush, the place of his residence, assured my kind in- 
formant Mr. Train, that he had frequently seen upwards of 
two hundred Lingtow men assemble at one time, and go off 
into the interior of the country, fully laden with contraband 
goods. 

In those halcyon days of the free trade, the fixed price for 
carrying a box of tea or bale of tobacco from the coast of 
Galloway to Edinburgh was fifteen shillings, and a man with 
two horses carried four such packages. The trade was entirely 
destroyed by Mr. Pitt’s celebrated commutation law, which, by 
reducing the duties upon excisable articles, enabled the lawful 
dealer to compete with the smuggler. The statute was called 
in Galloway and Dumfries-shire, by those who had thriven 
upon the contraband trade, " the burning and starving act.’ 

Sure of such active assistance on shore, Yawkins demeaned 
himself so boldly that his mere name was a terror to the 
officers of the revenue. He availed himself of the fears which 
his presence inspired on one particular night, when, happen- 
ing to be ashore with a considerable quantity of goods in his 
sole custody, a strong party of excisemen came down on 
him. Far from shunning the attack, Yawkins sprung for- 
ward, shouting, ' Come on, my lads ; Yawkins is before you.’ 
The revenue officers were intimidated and relinquished their 
prize, though defended only by the courage and address of a 
single man. On his proper element Yawkins was equally suc- 

xxviii 


INTRODUCTION 


cessful. On one occasion he was landing his cargo at the 
Manxman’s Lake near Kirkcudbright, when two revenue cut- 
ters (the ‘ Pigmy ’ and the ‘ Dwarf ’) hove in sight at once on 
different tacks, the one coming round by the Isles of Fleet, 
the other between the point of Rueberry and the Muckle 
Ron. The dauntless free-trader instantly weighed anchor and 
bore down right between the luggers, so close that he tossed 
his hat on the deck of the one and his wig on that of the other, 
hoisted a cask to his maintop, to show his occupation, and 
bore away under an extraordinary pressure of canvas, without 
receiving injury. To account for these and other hairbreadth 
escapes, popular superstition alleged that Yawkins insured 
his celebrated buckkar by compounding with the devil for one- 
tenth of his crew every voyage. How they arranged the 
separation of the stock and tithes is left to our conjecture. 

! The buckkar was perhaps called the ^ Black Prince ’ in honour 
. of the formidable insurer. 

j The ‘ Black Prince ’ used to discharge her cargo at Luce, 
j. Balcarry, and elsewhere on the coast; but her owner’s fa- 
i vourite landing-places were at the entrance of the Dee and the 
' Cree, near the old Castle of Rueberry, about six miles below 
Kirkcudbright. There is a cave of large dimensions in the 
vicinity of Rueberry, which, from its being frequently used 
by Yawkins and his supposed connexion with the smugglers 
on the shore, is now called Dirk Hatteraick’s Cave. Strangers 
who visit this place, the scenery of which is highly romantic, 
are also shown, under the name of the Gauger’s Loup, a tre- 
mendous precipice, being the same, it is asserted, from which 
Kennedy was precipitated. 

Meg Merrilies is in Galloway considered as having had her 
i origin in the traditions concerning the celebrated Flora Mar- 
: shal, one of the royal consorts of Willie Marshal, more com- 
I monly called the Caird of Barullion, King of the Gipsies of 
the Western Lowlands. That potentate was himself deserv- 


XXIX 


INTRODUCTION 


ing of notice from the following peculiarities : — He was born 
in the parish of Kirkmichael about the year 1671 ; and, as 
he died at Kirkcudbright 23d November 1792, he must then 
have been in the one hundred and twentieth year of his age. 
It cannot be said that this unusually long lease of existence 
was noted by any peculiar excellence of conduct or habits of 
life. Willie had been pressed or enlisted in the army seven 
times, and had deserted as often; besides three times run- 
ning away from the naval service. He had been seventeen 
times lawfully married ; and, besides such a reasonably large 
share of matrimonial comforts, was, after his hundredth year, 
the avowed father of four children by less legitimate affec- 
tions. He subsisted in his extreme old age by a pension from 
the present Earl of Selkirk’s grandfather. Will Marshal 
is buried in Kirkcudbright church, where his monument is 
still shown, decorated with a scutcheon suitably blazoned with 
two tups’ horns and two cutty spoons. 

In his youth he occasionally took an evening walk on the 
highway, with the purpose of assisting travellers by relieving 
them of the weight of their purses. On one occasion the Caird 
of Barullion robbed the Laird of Bargally at a place between 
Carsphairn and Dalmellington. His purpose was not achieved 
without a severe struggle, in which the gipsy lost his bonnet, 
and was obliged to escape, leaving it on the road. A respect- 
able farmer happened to be the next passenger, and, seeing 
the bonnet, alighted, took it up, and rather imprudently put 
it on his own head. At this instant Bargally came up with 
some assistants, and, recognising the bonnet, charged the 
farmer of Bantoberick with having robbed him, and took him 
into custody. There being some likeness between the parties, 
Bargally persisted in his charge, and, though the respecta- 
bility of the farmer’s character was proved or admitted, his 
trial before the Circuit Court came on accordingly. The fatal 
bonnet lay on the table of the court.* Bargally swore that it 


XXX 


INTRODUCTION 


was the identical article worn by the man who robbed him; 
and he and others likewise deponed that they had found the 
accused on the spot where the crime was committed, with the 
bonnet on his head. The case looked gloomily for the pris- 
oner, and the opinion of the judge seemed unfavourable. But 
there was a person in court who knew well both who did and 
who did not commit the crime. This was the Caird of Ba- 
rullion, who, thrusting himself up to the bar near the place 
where Bargally was standing, suddenly seized on the bonnet, 
put it on his head, and, looking the Laird full in the face, 
asked him, with a voice which attracted the attention of the 
court and crowded audience — ‘ Look at me, sir, and tell me, by 
the oath you have sworn — Am not / the man who robbed you 
between Carsphairn and Dalmellington ? ’ Bargally replied, 
in great astonishment, ‘ By Heaven ! you are the very man.’ 
‘ You see what sort of memory this gentleman has,’ said the 
volunteer pleader ; ‘ he swears to the bonnet whatever features 
are under it. If you yourself, my Lord, will put it on your 
head, he will be willing to swear that your Lordship was the 
party who robbed him between Carsphairn and Dalmelling- 
ton.’ The tenant of Bantoberick was unanimously acquitted ; 
and thus Willie Marshal ingeniously contrived to save an 
innocent man from danger, without incurring any himself, 
since Bargally’s evidence must have seemed to every one too 
fluctuating to be relied upon. 

While the King of the Gipsies was thus laudably occupied, 
his royal consort. Flora, contrived, it is said, to steal the hood 
from the judge’s gown ; for which offence, combined with her 
presumptive guilt as a gipsy, she was banished to New Eng- 
land, whence she never returned. 

Now, I cannot grant that the idea of Meg Merrilies was, in 
the first concoction of the character, derived from Flora Mar- 
shal, seeing I have already said she was identified with Jean 
Gordon, and as I have not the Laird of Bargally’s apology 

xxxi 


INTRODUCTION 


for charging the same fact on two several individuals. Yet 
I am quite content that Meg should be considered as a repre- 
sentative of her sect and class in general, Flora as well as 
others. 

The other instances in which my Gallovidian readers have 
obliged me by assigning to 

Airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name, 

shall also be sanctioned so far as the Author may be entitled 
to do so. I think the facetious Joe Miller records a case 
pretty much in point; where the keeper of a museum, while | 
showing, as he said, the very sword with which Balaam was ! 
about to kill his ass, was interrupted by one of the visitors, 
who reminded him that Balaam was not possessed of a sword, 
but only wished for one. ' True, sir,' replied the ready-witted | 
cicerone ; ‘ but this is the very sword he wished for.' The 
Author, in application of this story, has only to add that, 
though ignorant of the coincidence between the fictions of the 
tale and some real circumstances, he is contented to believe he I 
must unconsciously have thought or dreamed of the last while 
engaged in the composition of Guy Mannering. 


xxxii 


GUY MANNERING 


I 











GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER I. 

He could not deny that, looking upon the dreary region, and seeing 
nothing but bleak fields and naked trees, hills obscured by fogs, and 
flats covered with inundations, he did for some time suffer melan- 
choly to prevail upon him, and wished himself again safe at home. 

Travels of Will. Marvel, ‘Idler,’ No. 49. 

I T was in the beginning of the month of November 17 — 
when a young English gentleman, who had just left 
the university of Oxford, made use of the liberty afforded 
him to visit some parts of the north of England; and curi- 
osity extended his tour into the adjacent frontier of the sister 
country. He had visited, on the day that opens our hiS' 
tory, some monastic ruins in the county of Dumfries, and 
spent much of the day in making drawings of them from dif- 
ferent points, so that, on mounting his horse to resume his 
journey, the brief and gloomy twilight of the season had 
already commenced. His way lay through a wild tract of 
black moss, extending for miles on each side and before him. 
Little eminences arose like islands on its surface, bearing here 
and there patches of corn, which even at this season was 
green, and sornetimes a hut or farm-house, shaded by a wil- 
low or two and surrounded by large elder-bushes. These 
insulated dwellings communicated with each other by wind- 
ing passages through the moss, impassable by any but the 
natives themselves. The public road, however, was toler- 
ably well made and safe, so that the prospect of being be- 
nighted brought with it no real danger. Still it is uncom- 

3 


GUY MANNERING 


fortable to travel alone and in the dark through an unknown 
country; and there are few ordinary occasions upon which 
Fancy frets herself so much as in a situation like that of 
Mannering. 

As the light grew faint and more faint, and the morass 
appeared blacker and blacker, our traveller questioned more 
closely each chance passenger on his distance from the vil- 
lage of Kippletringan, where he proposed to quarter for the 
night. His queries were usually answered by a counter- 
challenge respecting the place from whence he came. While 
sufficient daylight remained to show the dress and appear- 
ance of a gentleman, these cross interrogatories were usually 
put in the form of a case supposed, as, ‘Ye’ll hae been at the 
auld abbey o’ Halycross, sir? there’s mony English gentle- 
men gang to see that.’ — Or, ‘Your honour will be come frae 
the house o’ Pouderloupat ?’ But when the voice of the quer- 
ist alone was distinguishable, the response usually was, 
‘Where are ye coming frae at sic a time o’ night as the like o’ 
this?’ — or, ‘Ye’ll no be o’ this country, f reend?’ The an- 
swers, when obtained, were neither very reconcilable to each 
other nor accurate in the information which they afforded. 
Kippletringan was distant at first ‘a gey bit’ ; then the ‘gey bit’ 
was more accurately described as ‘abKns three mile’ ; then the 
‘three mile’ diminished into ‘like a mile and a bittock’ ; then 
extended themselves into ‘four mile or thereawa’ ; and, lastly, 
a female voice, having hushed a wailing infant which the 
spokeswoman carried in her arms, assured Guy Mannering, 
‘It was a weary lang gate yet to Kippletringan, and unco 
heavy road for foot passengers.’ The poor hack upon which 
Mannering was mounted was probably of opinion that it suit- 
ed him as ill as the female respondent; for he began to flag 
very much, answered each application of the spur with a 
groan, and stumbled at every stone (and they were not few) 
which lay in his road. 

Mannering now grew impatient. He was occasionally 
betrayed into a deceitful hope that the end of his journey was 
near by the apparition of a twinkling light or two ; but, as he 
came up, he was disappointed to find that the gleams pro- 
ceeded from some of those farm-houses which occasionally 
ornamented the surface of the extensive bog. At length, to 

4 


GUY MANNERING 


complete his perplexity, he arrived at a place where the road 
divided into two. If there had been light to consult the rel- 
ics of a finger-post which stood there, it would have been of 
little avail, as, according to the good custom of North Brit- 
ain, the inscription had been defaced shortly after its erec- 
tion. Our adventurer was therefore compelled, like a knight- 
errant of old, to trust to the sagacity of his horse, which, 
without any demur, chose the left-hand path, and seemed to 
proceed at a somewhat livelier pace than before, affording 
thereby a hope that he knew he was drawing near to his 
quarters for the evening. This hope, however, was not speed- 
ily accomplished, and Mannering, whose impatience made 
every furlong seem three, began to think that Kippletringan 
was actually retreating before him in proportion to his ad- 
vance. 

It was now very cloudy, although the stars from time to 
time shed a twinkling and uncertain light. Hitherto nothing 
had broken the silence around him but the deep cry of the 
bog-blitter, or bull-of-the-bog, a large species of bittern, and 
the sighs of the wind as it passed along the dreary morass. 
To these was now joined the distant roar of the ocean, 
towards which the traveller seemed to be fast approaching. 
This was no circumstance to make his mind easy. Many of 
the roads in that country lay along the sea-beach, and were 
liable to be flooded by the tides, which rise with great height, 
and advance with extreme rapidity. Others were intersected 
with creeks and smaller inlets, which it was only safe to pass 
at particular times of the tide. Neither circumstance would 
have suited a dark night, a fatigued horse, and a traveller 
ignorant of his road. Mannering resolved, therefore, defin- 
itely to halt for the night at the first inhabited place, however 
poor, he might chance to reach, unless he could procure a 
guide to this unlucky village of Kippletringan. 

A miserable hut gave him an opportunity to execute his 
purpose. He found out the door with no small difficulty, and 
for some time knocked without producing any other answer 
than a duet between a female and a cur-dog, the latter yelp- 
ing as if he would have barked his heart out, the other 
screaming in chorus. By degrees the human tones predomi- 
nated; but the angry bark of the cur being at the instant 

5 


GUY MANNERING 


changed into a howl, it is probable something more than fair 
strength of lungs had contributed to the ascendency. 

‘Sorrow be in your thrapple then!’ these were the first 
articulate words, ‘will ye no let me hear what the man wants, 
wi’ your yaffing ?’ 

‘Am I far from Kippletringan, good dame?’ 

‘Frae Kippletringan !!!’ in an exalted tone of wonder, 
which we can but faintly express by three points of admira- 
tion. ‘Ow, man I ye should hae hadden eassel to Kipple- 
tringan ; ye maun gae back as far as the whaap, and hand the 
whaap till ye come to Ballenloan, and then -’ 

‘This will never do, good dame! my horse is almost quite 
knocked up; can you not give me a night’s lodgings?’ 

‘Troth can I no; I am a lone woman, for James he’s awa 
to Drumshourloch Fair with the year-aulds, and I daurna for 
my life open the door to ony o’ your gang-there-out sort o’ 
bodies.’ 

‘But what must I do then, good dame? for I can’t sleep 
here upon the road all night.’ 

‘Troth, I kenna, unless ye like to gae down and speer for 
quarters at the Place. I’se warrant they’ll tak ye in, whether 
ye be gentle or semple.’ 

‘Simple enough, to be wandering here at such a time of 
night,’ thought Mannering, who was ignorant of the meaning 
of the phrase ; ‘but how shall I get to the place, as you call it ?’ 

‘Ye maun baud wessel by the end o’ the loan, and take 
tent o’ the jaw-hole.’ 

‘O, if ye get to eassel and wessel again, I am undone ! Is 
there nobody that could guide me to this Place? I will pay 
him handsomely.’ 

The word pay operated like magic. ‘Jock, ye villain,’ ex- 
claimed the voice from the interior, ‘are ye lying routing 
there, and a young gentleman seeking the way to the Place? 
Get up, ye fause loon, and show him the way down the 
muckle loaning. He’ll show you the way, sir, and I’se war- 
rant ye’ll be weel put up; for they never turn awa naebody 
frae the door; and ye’ll be come in the canny moment. I’m 
thinking, for the laird’s servant — that’s no to say his body- 
servant, but the helper-like — rade express by this e’en to fetch 
the houdie, and he just staid the drinking o’ twa pints o’ 

6 


GUY MANNERING 


tippenny to tell us how my leddy was ta’en wi’ her pains/ 

‘Perhaps/ said Mannering, ‘at such a time a stranger’s 
arrival might be inconvenient ?’ 

‘Hoot, na, ye needna be blate about that; their house is 
muckle eneugh, and decking time’s aye canty time.’ 

By this time Jock had found his way into all the intricacies 
of a tattered doublet and more tattered pair of breeches, and 
sallied forth, a great white-headed, bare-legged, lubberly boy 
of twelve years old, so exhibited by the glimpse of a rush- 
light which his half-naked mother held in such a manner as 
to get a peep at the stranger without greatly exposing herself 
to view in return. Jock moved on westward by the end of 
the house, leading Mannering’s horse by the bridle, and pilot- 
ing with some dexterity along the little path which bordered 
the formidable jaw-hole, whose vicinity the stranger was 
made sensible of by means of more organs than one. His 
guide then dragged the weary hack along a broken and stony 
cart-track, next over a ploughed field, then broke down a slap, 
as he called it, in a dry-stone fence, and lugged the unresist- 
ing animal through the breach, about a rood of the simple 
masonry giving way in the splutter with which he passed. 
Finally, he led the way through a wicket into something 
which had still the air of an avenue, though many of the 
trees were felled. The roar of the ocean was now near and 
full, and the moon, which began to make her appearance, 
gleamed on a turreted and apparently a ruined mansion of 
considerable extent. Mannering fixed his eyes upon it with a 
disconsolate sensation. 

‘Why, my little fellow,’ he said, ‘this is a ruin, not a 
house ?’ 

‘Ah, but the lairds lived there langsyne; that’s Ellan- 
gowan Auld Place. There’s a hantle bogles about it ; but ye 
needna be feared, I never saw ony mysell, and we’re just at 
the door o’ the New Place.’ 

Accordingly, leaving the ruins on the right, a few steps 
brought the traveller in front of a modem house of moderate 
size, at which his guide rapped with great importance. Man- 
nering told his circumstances to the servant; and the gentle- 
man of the house, who heard his tale from the parlour, 
stepped forward and welcomed the stranger hospitably to 

7 


GUY MANNERING 


Ellangowan. The boy, made happy with half-a-crown, was 
dismissed to his cottage, the weary horse was conducted to a 
stall, and Mannering found himself in a few minutes seated 
by a comfortable supper, for which his cold ride gave him a 
hearty appetite. 


CHAPTER 11. 

Comes me, cranking in, 

And cuts me from the best of all my land 
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle, out. 

Henry IV., Part 1. 

T he company in the parlour at Ellangowan consisted of 
the Laird and a sort of person who might be the vil- 
lage schoolmaster, or perhaps the minister’s assistant ; his ap- 
pearance was too shabby to indicate the minister, considering 
he was on a visit to the Laird. 

The Laird himself was one of those second-rate sort of 
persons that are to be found frequently in rural situations. 
Fielding has described one class as feras consumere nati; but 
the love of field-sports indicates a certain activity of mind, 
which had forsaken Mr. Bertram, if ever he possessed it. A 
good-humoured listlessness of countenance formed the only 
remarkable expression of his features, although they were 
rather handsome than otherwise. In fact, his physiognomy 
indicated the inanity of character which pervaded his life. I 
will give the reader some insight into his state and conversa- 
tion before he has finished a long lecture to Mannering upon 
the propriety and comfort of wrapping his stirrup-irons round 
with a wisp of straw when he had occasion to ride in a chill 
evening. 

Godfrey Bertram of Ellangowan succeeded to a long pedi- 
gree and a short rent-roll, like many lairds of that period. 
His list of forefathers ascended so high that they were lost in 
the barbarous ages of Galwekian independence, so that his 
genealogical tree, besides the Christian and crusading names 
of Godfreys, and Gilberts, and Dennises, and Rolands with- 
out end, bore heathen fruit of yet darker ages — Arths, and 
Knarths, and Donagilds, and Hanlons. In truth, they had 

8 


GUY MANNERING 


been formerly the stormy chiefs of a desert but extensive do- 
main, and the heads of a numerous tribe called Mac-Dinga- 
waie, though they afterwards adopted the Norman surname 
of Bertram. They had made war, raised rebellions, been de- 
feated, beheaded, and hanged, as became a family of impor- 
tance, for many centuries. But they had gradually lost 
ground in the world, and, from being themselves the heads of 
treason and traitorous conspiracies, the Bertrams, or Mac- 
Dingawaies, of Ellangowan had sunk into subordinate ac- 
complices. Their most fatal exhibitions in this capacity took 
place in the seventeenth century, when the foul fiend pos- 
sessed them with a spirit of contradiction, which uniformly 
involved them in controversy with the ruling powers. They 
reversed the conduct of the celebrated Vicar of Bray, and ad- 
hered as tenaciously to the weaker side as that worthy divine 
to the stronger. And truly, like him, they had their reward. 

Alan Bertram of Ellangowan, who flourished tempore 
Caroli primi, was, says my authority, Sir Robert Douglas, in 
his Scottish Baronage (see the title ‘Ellangowan’), ‘a steady 
loyalist, and full of zeal for the cause of His Sacred Majesty, 
in which he united with the great Marquis of Montrose and 
other truly zealous and honourable patriots, and sustained 
great losses in that behalf. He had the honour of knight- 
hood conferred upon him by His Most Sacred Majesty, and 
was sequestrated as a malignant by the parliament, 1642, and 
afterwards as a resolutioner in the year 1648.’ These two 
cross-grained epithets of malignant and resolutioner cost poor 
Sir Allan one half of the family estate. His son Dennis Ber- 
tram married a daughter of an eminent fanatic who had a seat 
in the council of state, and saved by that union the remainder 
of the family property. But, as ill chance would have it, he 
became enamoured of the lady’s principles as well as of her 
charms, and my author gives him this character : ‘He was a 
man of eminent parts and resolutions, for which reason he 
was chosen by the western counties one of the committee of 
noblemen and gentlemen to report their griefs to the privy 
council of Charles IT anent the coming in of the Highland 
host in 1678.’ For undertaking this patriotic task he under- 
went a fine, to pay which he was obliged to mortgage half of 
the remaining moiety of his paternal property. This loss he 

9 


GUY MANNERING 


might have recovered by dint of severe economy, but on the 
breaking out of Argyle’s rebellion Dennis Bertram was again 
suspected by government, apprehended, sent to Dunnotar 
Castle on the coast of the M earns, and there broke his neck 
in an attempt to escape from a subterranean habitation called 
the Whigs’ Vault, in which he was confined with some eighty 
of the same persuasion. The apprizer therefore (as the hold- 
er of a mortgage was then called) entered upon possession, 
and, in the language of Hotspur, ‘came me cranking in,’ and 
cut the family out of another monstrous cantle of their re- 
maining property. 

Donohoe Bertram, with somewhat of an Irish name and 
somewhat of an Irish temper, succeeded to the diminished 
property of Ellangowan. He turned out of doors the Rev. 
Aaron Macbriar, his mother’s chaplain (it is said they quar- 
relled about the good graces of a milkmaid) ; drank himself 
daily drunk with brimming healths to the king, council, and 
bishops; held orgies with the Laird of Lagg, Theophilus 
Oglethorpe, and Sir James Turner; and lastly, took his grey 
gelding and joined Clavers at Killiecrankie. At the skirmish 
of Dunkeld, 1689, he was shot dead by a Cameronian with a 
silver button (being supposed to have proof from the Evil 
One against lead and steel), and his grave is still called the 
Wicked Laird’s Lair. 

His son Lewis had more prudence than seems usually to 
have belonged to the family. He nursed what property was 
yet left to him; for Donohoe’s excesses, as well as fines and 
forfeitures, had made another inroad upon the estate. And 
although even he did not escape the fatality which induced 
the Lairds of Ellangowan to interfere with politics, he had 
yet the prudence, ere he went out with Lord Kenmore in 
1715, to convey his estate to trustees, in order to parry pains 
and penalties in case the Earl of Mar could not put down the 
Protestant succession. But Scylla and Charybdis — a word to 
the wise — he only saved his estate at expense of a lawsuit, 
which again subdivided the family property. He was, how- 
ever, a man of resolution. He sold part of the lands, evacu- 
ated the old castle, where the family lived in their decadence 
as a mouse (said an old farmer) lives under a firlot. Pulling 
down part of these venerable ruins, he built with the stones a 

10 


GUY MANNERING 


narrow house of three stories high, with a front like a grena- 
dier’s cap, having in the very centre a round window like the 
single eye of a Cyclops, two windows on each side, and a door 
in the middle, leading to a parlour and withdrawing-room full 
of all manner of cross lights. 

This was the New Place of Ellangowan, in which we left 
our hero, better amused perhaps than our readers, and to this 
Lewis Bertram retreated, full of projects for re-establishing 
the prosperity of his family. He took some land into his own 
hand, rented some from neighbouring proprietors, bought and 
sold Highland cattle and Cheviot sheep, rode to fairs and 
trysts, fought hard bargains, and held necessity at the staff’s 
end as well as he might. But what he gained in purse he lost 
in honour, for such agricultural and commercial negotiations 
were very ill looked upon by his brother lairds, who minded 
nothing but cock-fighting, hunting, coursing, and horse- 
racing, with now and then the alternative of a desperate duel. 
The occupations which he followed encroached, in their opin- 
ion, upon the article of Ellangowan’s gentry, and he found it 
necessary gradually to estrange himself from their society, 
and sink into what was then a very ambiguous character, a 
gentleman farmer. In the midst of his schemes death claimed 
his tribute, and the scanty remains of a large property de- 
scended upon Godfrey Bertram, the present possessor, his 
only son. 

The danger of the father’s speculations was soon seen. De- 
prived of Laird Lewis’s personal and active superintendence, 
all his undertakings miscarried, and became either abortive or 
perilous. Without a single spark of energy to meet or repel 
these misfortunes, Godfrey put his faith in the activity of 
another. He kept neither hunters nor hounds, nor any other 
southern preliminaries to ruin ; but, as has been observed of 
his countrymen, he kept a man of business, who answered the 
purpose equally well. Under this gentleman’s supervision 
small debts grew into large, interests were accumulated upon 
capitals, movable bonds became heritable, and law charges 
were heaped upon all ; though Ellangowan possessed so little 
the spirit of a litigant that he was on two occasions charged 
to make payment of the expenses of a long lawsuit, although 
he had never before heard that he had such cases in court. 


II 


GUY MANN£RING 


might have recovered by dint of severe economy, but on the 
breaking out of Argyle’s rebellion Dennis Bertram was again 
suspected by government, apprehended, sent to Dunnotar 
Castle on the coast of the M earns, and there broke his neck 
in an attempt to escape from a subterranean habitation called 
the Whigs’ Vault, in which he was confined with some eighty 
of the same persuasion. The apprizer therefore (as the hold- ! 
er of a mortgage was then called) entered upon possession, | 
and, in the language of Hotspur, ‘came me cranking in,’ and 
cut the family out of another monstrous cantle of their re- 
maining property. [ 

Donohoe Bertram, with somewhat of an Irish name and | 
somewhat of an Irish temper, succeeded to the diminished ! 
property of Ellangowan. He turned out of doors the Rev. 1 
Aaron Macbriar, his mother’s chaplain (it is said they quar- 
relled about the good graces of a milkmaid) ; drank himself 
daily drunk with brimming healths to the king, council, and 
bishops; held orgies with the Laird of Lagg, Theophilus 
Oglethorpe, and Sir James Turner; and lastly, took his grey 
gelding and joined Clavers at Killiecrankie. At the skirmish 
of Dunkeld, 1689, he was shot dead by a Cameronian with a 
silver button (being supposed to have proof from the Evil 
One against lead and steel), and his grave is still called the 
Wicked Laird’s Lair. 

His son Lewis had more prudence than seems usually to 
have belonged to the family. He nursed what property was 
yet left to him; for Donohoe’s excesses, as well as fines and 
forfeitures, had made another inroad upon the estate. And 
although even he did not escape the fatality which induced 
the Lairds of Ellangowan to interfere with politics, he had 
yet the prudence, ere he went out with Lord Kenmore in 
1715, to convey his estate to trustees, in order to parry pains 
and penalties in case the Earl of Mar could not put down the S 
Protestant succession. But Scylla and Charybdis — a word to I 
the wise — he only saved his estate at expense of a lawsuit, [ 
which again subdivided the family property. He was, how- 1 
ever, a man of resolution. He sold part of the lands, evacu- 
ated the old castle, where the family lived in their decadence 
as a mouse (said an old farmer) lives under a firlot. Pulling 
down part of these venerable ruins, he built with the stones a 


GUY MANNERING 


narrow house of three stories high, with a front like a grena- 
dier’s cap, having in the very centre a round window like the 
single eye of a Cyclops, two windows on each side, and a door 
in the middle, leading to a parlour and withdrawing-room full 
of all manner of cross lights. 

This was the New Place of Ellangowan, in which we left 
our hero, better amused perhaps than our readers, and to this 
Lewis Bertram retreated, full of projects for re-establishing 
the prosperity of his family. He took some land into his own 
hand, rented some from neighbouring proprietors, bought and 
sold Highland cattle and Cheviot sheep, rode to fairs and 
trysts, fought hard bargains, and held necessity at the staff’s 
end as well as he might. But what he gained in purse he lost 
in honour, for such agricultural and commercial negotiations 
were very ill looked upon by his brother lairds, who minded 
nothing but cock-fighting, hunting, coursing, and horse- 
racing, with now and then the alternative of a desperate duel. 
The occupations which he followed encroached, in their opin- 
ion, upon the article of Ellangowan’s gentry, and he found it 
necessary gradually to estrange himself from their society, 
and sink into what was then a very ambiguous character, a 
gentleman farmer. In the midst of his schemes death claimed 
his tribute, and the scanty remains of a large property de- 
scended upon Godfrey Bertram, the present possessor, his 
only son. 

The danger of the father’s speculations was soon seen. De- 
prived of Laird Lewis’s personal and active superintendence, 
all his undertakings miscarried, and became either abortive or 
perilous. Without a single spark of energy to meet or repel 
these misfortunes, Godfrey put his faith in the activity of 
another. He kept neither hunters nor hounds, nor any other 
southern preliminaries to ruin; but, as has been observed of 
his countrymen, he kept a man of business, who answered the 
purpose equally well. Under this gentleman’s supervision 
small debts grew into large, interests were accumulated upon 
capitals, movable bonds became heritable, and law charges 
were heaped upon all ; though Ellangowan possessed so little 
the spirit of a litigant that he was on two occasions charged 
to make payment of the expenses of a long lawsuit, although 
he had never before heard that he had such cases in court. 

II 


GUY MANNERING 


Meanwhile his neighbours predicted his final ruin. Those of : 
the higher rank, with some malignity, accounted him already 
a degraded brother. The lower classes, seeing nothing envi- | 
able in his situation, marked his embarrassments with more j 
compassion. He was even a kind of favourite with them, | 
and upon the division of a common, or the holding of a black- j 
fishing or poaching court, or any similar occasion when they 
conceived themselves oppressed by the gentry, they were in 
the habit of saying to each other, ‘Ah, if Ellangowan, honest i 
man, had his ain that his forbears had afore him, he wadna j 
see the puir folk trodden down this gait.’ Meanwhile, this i 
general good opinion never prevented their taking the advan- 
tage of him on all possible occasions, turning their cattle into 
his parks, stealing his wood, shooting his game, and so forth, i 
‘for the Laird, honest man, he’ll never find it ; he never minds | 
what a puir body does.’ Pedlars, gipsies, tinkers, vagrants | 
of all descriptions, roosted about his outhouses, or harboured j 
in his kitchen ; and the Laird, who was ‘nae nice body,’ but a | 
thorough gossip, like most weak men, found recompense for 
his hospitality in the pleasure of questioning them on the 
news of the country side. 

A circumstance arrested Ellangowan’s progress on the 
highroad to ruin. This was his marriage with a lady who 
had a portion of about four thousand pounds. Nobody in the 
neighbourhood could conceive why she married him and en- 
dowed him with her wealth, unless because he had a tall, 
handsome figure, a good set of features, a genteel address, - 
and the most perfect good-humour. It might be some addi- 
tional consideration, that she was herself at the reflecting age 
of twenty-eight, and had no near relations to control her ac- 
tions or choice. 

It was in this lady’s behalf (confined for the first time after 
her marriage) that the speedy and active express, mentioned 
by the old dame of the cottage, had been despatched to Kip- 
pletringan on the night of Mannering’s arrival. 

Though we have said so much of the Laird himself, it still 
remains that we make the reader in some degree acquainted 
with his companion. This was Abel' Sampson, commonly 
called, from his occupation as a pedagogue, Dominie Samp- 
son. He was of low birth, but having evinced, even from 

12 


’■5 


GUY MANNERING 


his cradle, an uncommon seriousness of disposition, the poor 
parents were encouraged to hope that their bairn, as they ex- 
pressed it, ‘might wag his pow in a pulpit yet/ With an am- 
bitious view to such a consummation, they pinched and pared, 
rose early and lay down late, ate dry bread and drank cold 
water, to secure to Abel the means of learning. Meantime, 
his tall, ungainly figure, his taciturn and grave manners, and 
some grotesque habits of swinging his limbs and screwing his 
visage while reciting his task, made poor Sampson the ridi- 
cule of all his school-companions. The same qualities se- 
cured him at Glasgow College a plentiful share of the same 
sort of notice. Half the youthful mob of ‘the yards’ used to 
assemble regularly to see Dominie Sampson (for he had al- 
ready attained that honourable title) descend the stairs from 
the Greek class, with his lexicon under his arm, his long mis- 
shapen legs sprawling abroad, and keeping awkward time to 
the play of his immense shoulder-blades, as they raised and 
depressed the loose and threadbare black coat which was his 
constant and only wear. When he spoke, the efforts of the 
professor (professor of divinity though he was) were totally 
inadequate to restrain the inextinguishable laughter of the 
students, and sometimes even to repress his own. The long, 
sallow visage, the goggle eyes, the huge under] aw, which ap- 
peared not to open and shut by an act of volition, but to be 
dropped and hoisted up again by some complicated machinery 
within the inner man, the harsh and dissonant voice, and the 
screech-owl notes to which it was exalted when he was ex- 
horted to pronounce more distinctly, — all added fresh subject 
for mirth to the torn cloak and shattered shoe, which have 
afforded legitimate subjects of raillery against the poor 
scholar from Juvenal’s time downward. It was never known 
that Sampson either exhibited irritability at this ill usage, or 
made the least attempt to retort upon his tormentors. He 
slunk from college by the most secret paths he could discover, 
and plunged himself into his miserable lodging, where, for 
eighteen-pence-a-week, he was allowed the benefit of a straw 
mattress, and, if his landlady was in good humour, permission 
to study his task by her fire. Under all these disadvantages, 
he obtained a competent knowledge of Greek and Latin, and 
some acquaintance with the sciences. 

13 


GUY MANNERING 


In progress of time, Abel Sampson, probationer of divinity, 
was admitted to the privileges of a preacher. But, alas ! 
partly from his own bashfulness, partly owing to a strong and 
obvious disposition to risibility which pervaded the congrega- 
tion upon his first attempt, he became totally incapable of pro- 
ceeding in his intended discourse, gasped, grinned, hideously | 
rolled his eyes till the congregation thought them flying out | 
of his head, shut the Bible, stumbled down the pulpit-stairs, j 
trampling upon the old women who generally take their sta- i 
tion there, and was ever after designated as a 'stickit minis- ! 
ter.’ And thus he wandered back to his own country, with : 
blighted hopes and prospects, to share the poverty of his par- I 
«nts. As he had neither friend nor confidant, hardly even an | 
acquaintance, no one had the means of observing closely how 
Dominie Sampson bore a disappointment which supplied the 
whole town with a week’s sport. It would be endless even to 
mention the numerous jokes to which it gave birth, from a 
ballad called ‘Sampson’s Riddle,’ written upon the subject by 
a smart young student of humanity, to the sly hope of the 
Principal that the fugitive had not, in imitation of his mighty 
namesake, taken the college gates along with him in his 
retreat. 

To all appearance, the equanimity of Sampson was un- 
shaken. He sought to assist his parents by teaching a school, 
and soon had plenty of scholars, but very few fees. In fact, 
he taught the sons of farmers for what they chose to give 
him, and the poor for nothing; and, to the shame of the 
former be it spoken, the pedagogue’s gains never equalled 
those of a skilful ploughman. He wrote, however, a good 
hand, and added . something to his pittance by copying ac- 
counts and writing letters for Ellangowan. By degrees, the 
Laird, who was much estranged from general society, became 
partial to that of Dominie Sampson. Conversation, it is true, 
was out of the question, but the Dominie was a good listener, 
and stirred the fire with some address. He attempted even 
to snuff the candles, but was unsuccessful, and relinquished 
that ambitious post of courtesy after having twice reduced 
the parlour to total darkness. So his civilities, thereafter, 
were confined to taking off his glass of ale in exactly the same 
time and measure with the Laird, and in uttering certain in- 

14 


GUY MANNERING 


distinct murmurs of acquiescence at the conclusion of the long 
and winding stories of Ellangowan. 

On one of these occasions, he presented for the first time to 
Mannering his tall, gaunt, awkward, bony figure, attired in a^ 
threadbare suit of black, with a coloured handkerchief, not 
over clean, about his sinewy, scraggy neck, and his nether 
person arrayed in grey breeches, dark-blue stockings, clouted 
shoes, and small copper buckles. 

Such is a brief outline of the lives and fortunes of those 
two persons in whose society Mannering now found himself 
comfortably seated. 


CHAPTER III. 


Do not the hist’ries of all ages 
Relate miraculous presages 
Of strange turns in the world’s affairs, 
Foreseen by astrologers, soothsayers, 
Chaldeans, learned genethliacs, 

And some that have writ almanacks? 


Hudibras. 



HE circumstances of the landlady were pleaded to Man- 


J- nering, first, as an apology for her not appearing to 
welcome her guest, and for those deficiencies in his entertain- 
ment which her attention might have supplied, and then as an 
excuse for pressing an extra bottle of good wine. 

T cannot weel sleep,’ said the Laird, with the anxious feel- 
ings of a father in such a predicament, ‘till I hear she’s gotten 
ower with it ; and if you, sir, are not very sleepy, and would 
do me and the Dominie the honour to sit up wi’ us, I am sure 
we shall not detain you very late. Luckie Howatson is very 
expeditious. There was ance a lass that was in that way ; she 
did not live far from hereabouts — ye needna shake your head 
and groan. Dominie; I am sure the kirk dues were a’ weel 
paid, and what can man do mair ? — it was laid till her ere she 
had a sark ower her head ; and the man that she since wadded 
does not think her a pin the waur for the misfortune. They 
live, Mr. Mannering, by the shore-side at Annan, and a mair 
decent, orderly couple, with six as fine bairns as ye would 
wish to see plash in a salt-water dub; and little curlie God- 


GOT MANNERING 


frey — that’s the eldest, the come o’ will, as I may say — ^he's 
on board an excise yacht. I hae a cousin at the board of ex- 
cise ; that’s Commissioner Bertram ; he got his commissioner- 
ship in the great contest for the county, that ye must have 
heard of, for it was appealed to the House of Commons. 
Now I should have voted there for the Laird of Balruddery; 
but ye see my father was a Jacobite, and out with Kenmore, 
so he never took the oaths ; and I ken not weel how it was, 
but all that I could do and say, they keepit me off the roll, 
though my agent, that had a vote upon my estate, ranked as 
a good vote for auld Sir Thomas Kittlecourt. ’ But, to return 
to what I was saying, Luckie Howatson is very expeditious, 
for this lass ’ 

Here the desultory and long-winded narrative of the Laird | 
was interrupted by the voice of some one ascending the stairs 
from the kitchen story, and singing at full pitch of voice. 
The high notes were too shrill for a man, the low seemed too 
deep for a woman. The words, as far as Mannering could 
distinguish them, seemed to run thus : 

Canny moment, lucky fit ! 

Is the lady lighter yet? 

Be it lad, or be it lass. 

Sign wi’ cross and sain wi’ mass. 

Tt’s Meg Merrilies, the gipsy, as sure as I am a sinner,’ said 
Mr. Bertram. The Dominie groaned deeply, uncrossed his 
legs, drew in the huge splay foot which his former posture 
had extended, placed it perpendicularly, and stretched the 
other limb over it instead, puffing out between whiles huge 
volumes of tobacco smoke. ‘What needs ye groan. Dominie ? 

I am sure Meg’s sangs do nae ill.’ 

‘Nor good neither,’ answered Dominie Sampson, in a voice 
whose untuneable harshness corresponded with the awkward- ! 
ness of his figure. They were the first words which Manner- I 
ing had heard him speak ; and as he had been watching with | 
some curiosity when this eating, drinking, moving, and smok- i 
ing automaton would perform the part of speaking, he was a 
good deal diverted with the harsh timber tones which issued 
from him. But at this moment the door opened, and Meg 
Merrilies entered. 


i6 


GUY MANNERING 


Her appearance made Mannering start. She was full six 
feet high, wore a man’s great-coat over the rest of her dress, 
had in her hand a goodly sloethorn cudgel, and in all points of 
equipment, except her petticoats, seemed rather masculine 
than feminine. Her dark elf-locks shot out like the snakes 
of the gorgon between an old-fashioned bonnet called a bon- 
grace, heightening the singular effect of her strong and 
weather-beaten features, which they partly shadowed, while 
her eye had a wild roll that indicated something like real or 
affected insanity. 

‘Aweel, Ellangowan,’ she said, ‘wad it no hae been a bonnie 
thing, an the leddy had been brought to bed, and me at the 
fair o’ Drumshourloch, no kenning, nor dreaming a word 
about it? Wha was to hae keepit awa the worriecows, I 
trow? Ay, and the elves and gyre-carlings frae the bonnie 
bairn, grace be wi’ it? Ay, or said Saint Colme’s charm for 
its sake, the dear?’ And without waiting an answer she be- 
gan to sing — 

‘Trefoil, vervain, John’s- wort, dill. 

Hinders witches of their will; 

Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew’s day. 

‘ Saint Bride and her brat. 

Saint Colme and his cat. 

Saint Michael and his spear. 

Keep the house frae reif and wear.’ 

This charm she sung to a wild tune, in a high and shrill voice, 
and, cutting three capers with such strength and agility as al- 
most to touch the roof of the room, concluded, ‘And now, 
Laird, will ye no order me a tass o’ brandy ?’ 

‘That you shall have, Meg. Sit down yont there at the 
door and tell us what news ye have heard at the fair o’ 
Drumshourloch.’ 

‘Troth, Laird, and there was muckle want o’ you, and the 
like o’ you ; for there was a whin bonnie lasses there, forbye 
mysell, and deil ane to gie them hansels.’ 

‘Weel, Meg, and how mony gipsies were sent to the toL 
booth ?’ 

‘Troth, but three, Laird, for there were nae mair in the fair, 
bye mysell, as I said before, and I e’en gae them leg-bail, for 

2 ly 


GUY MANNERING 


there’s nae ease in dealing wi’ quarrelsome fowk. And 
there’s Dunbog has warned the Red Rotten and John Young 
aff his grunds— black be his cast! he’s nae gentleman, nor 
drap’s bluid o’ gentleman, wad grudge twa gangrel puir bod- 
ies the shelter o’ a waste house, and the thristles by the road- 
side for a bit cuddy, and the bits o’ rotten birk to boil their 
drap parritch wi’. Weel, there’s Ane abune a’; but we’ll see 
if the red cock craw not in his bonnie barn-yard ae morning 
before day-dawing.’ 

‘Hush ! Meg, hush I hush I that’s not safe talk.’ 

‘What does she mean?’ said Mannering to Sampson, in an 
undertone. 

‘Fire-raising,’ answered the laconic Dominie. 

‘Who, or what is she, in the name of wonder?’ 

‘Harlot, thief, witch, and gipsy,’ answered Sampson 
again. 

‘O troth, Laird,’ continued Meg, during this by-talk, ‘it’s 
but to the like o’ you ane can open their heart; ye see, they 
say Dunbog is nae mair a gentleman than the blunker that’s 
biggit the bonnie house down in the howm. But the like o’ 
you, Laird, that’s a real gentleman for sae mony hundred 
years, and never hunds puir fowk aff your grund as if they 
were mad tykes, nane o’ our fowk wad stir your gear if ye 
had as mony capons as there’s leaves on the trysting-tree. 
And now some o’ ye maun lay down your watch, and tell me 
the very minute o’ the hour the wean’s born, an I’ll spae its 
fortune.’ 

‘Ay, but, Meg, we shall not want your assistance, for here’s 
a student from Oxford that kens much better than you how to 
spae its fortune; he does it by the stars.’ 

‘Certainly, sir,’ said Mannering, entering into the simple 
humour of his landlord, ‘I will calculate his nativity according 
to the rule of the “triplicities,” as recommended by Pythago- 
ras, Hippocrates, Diodes, and Avicenna. Or I will begin ah 
hora questionis, as Haly, Messahala, Ganwehis, and Guido 
Bonatus have recommended.’ 

One of Sampson’s great recommendations to the favour of 
Mr. Bertram was, that he never detected the most gross at-, 
tempt at imposition, so that the Laird, whose humble efforts 
at jocularity were chiefly confined to what were then called 

i8 


GUY MANNERING 


bites and bams^ since denominated hoaxes and quizzes, had 
the fairest possible subject of wit in the unsuspecting Dom- 
inie. It is true, he never laughed, or joined in the laugh 
which his own simplicity afforded — nay, it is said, he never 
laughed but once in his life, and on that memorable occasion 
his landlady miscarried, partly through surprise at the event 
itself, and partly from terror at the hideous grimaces which 
attended this unusual cachination. The only effect which the 
discovery of such impositions produced upon this saturnine 
personage was, to extort an ejaculation of ‘Prodigious!’ or 
‘Very facetious !’ pronounced syllabically, but without moving 
a muscle of his own countenance. 

On the present occasion, he turned a gaunt and ghastly 
stare upon the youthful astrologer, and seemed to doubt if he 
had rightly understood his answer to his patron. 

‘I am afraid, sir,’ said Mannering, turning towards him, 
‘you may be one of those unhappy persons who, their dim 
eyes being unable to penetrate the starry spheres, and to 
discern therein the decrees of heaven at a distance, have 
their hearts barred against conviction by prejudice and mis- 
prision.’ 

‘Truly,’ said Sampson, ‘I opine with Sir Isaac Newton, 
Knight, and umwhile master of his Majesty’s mint, that the 
(pretended) science of astrology is altogether vain, friv- 
olous, and unsatisfactory.’ And here he reposed his oracular 
jaws. 

‘Really,’ resumed the traveller, ‘I am sorry to see a gentle- 
man of your learning and gravity labouring under such 
strange blindness and delusion. Will you place the brief, the 
modern, and, as I may say, the vernacular name of Isaac 
Newton in opposition to the grave and sonorous authorities 
of Dariot, Bonatus, Ptolemy, Haly, Ezler, Dieterich, Naibod, 
Harfurt, Zael, Tannstetter, Agrippa, Duretus, Maginus, Ori- 
gan, and Argoli ? Do not Christians and Heathens, and Jews 
and Gentiles, and poets and philosophers, unite in allowing 
the starry influences?’ 

‘Communis error — it is a general mistake,’ answered the 
inflexible Dominie Sampson. 

‘Not so,’ replied the young Englishman ; ‘it is a general and 
well-grounded belief.’ 


19 


GUY MANNERING 


'It is the resource of cheaters, knaves, and cozeners,’ said 
Sampson. 

'Abusus non tollit usum . — The abuse of anything doth not 
abrogate the lawful use thereof.’ 

During this discussion Ellangowan was somewhat like a 
woodcock caught in his own springe. He turned his face 
alternately from the one spokesman to the other, and began, 
from the gravity with which Mannering plied his adversary, 
and the learning which he displayed in the controversy, to 
give him credit for being half serious. As for Meg, she fixed 
her bewildered eyes upon the astrologer, overpowered by a 
jargon more mysterious than her own. 

Mannering pressed his advantage, and ran over all the hard 
terms of art which a tenacious memory supplied, and which, 
from circumstances hereafter to be noticed, had been familiar 
to him in early youth. 

Signs and planets, in aspects sextile, quartile, trine, con- 
joined, or opposite; houses of heaven, with their cusps, 
hours, and minutes ; almuten, almochoden, anahibazon, cata- 
hibazon; a thousand terms of equal sound and significance, 
poured thick and threefold upon the unshrinking Dominie, 
whose stubborn incredulity bore him out against the pelting 
of this pitiless storm. 

At length the joyful annunciation that the lady had pre- 
sented her husband with a fine boy, and was (of course) as 
well as could be expected, broke off this intercourse. Mr. 
Bertram hastened to the lady’s apartment, Meg Merrilies de- 
scended to the kitchen to secure her share of the groaning 
malt and the 'ken-no,’^ and Mannering, after looking at his 
watch, and noting with great exactness the hour and minuTe 
of the birth, requested, with becoming gravity, that the Dom- 
inie would conduct him to some place where he might have 
a view of the heavenly bodies. 

The schoolmaster, without further answer, rose and threw 
open a door half sashed with glass, which led to an old-fash- 
ioned terrace-walk behind the modern house, communicating 
with the platform on which the ruins of the ancient castle 
were situated. The wind had arisen, and swept before it the 
clouds which had formerly obscured the sky. The moon was 

^ See note i. 

20 


GUY MANNERING 


high, and at the full, and all the lesser satellites of heaven 
shone forth in cloudless effulgence. The scene which their 
light presented to Mannering was in the highest degree unex- 
pected and striking. 

We have observed, that in the latter part of his journey 
our traveller approached the sea-shore, without being aware 
how nearly. He now perceived that the ruins of Ellangowan 
Castle were situated upon a promontory, or projection of 
rock, which formed one side of a small and placid bay on the 
sea-shore. The modern mansion was placed lower, though 
closely adjoining, and the ground behind it descended to the 
sea by a small swelling green bank, divided into levels by 
natural terraces, on which grew some old trees, and terminat- 
ing upon the white sand. The other side of the bay, opposite 
to the old castle, was a sloping and varied promontory, cov- 
ered chiefly with copsewood, which on that favoured coast 
grows almost within water-mark. A fisherman’s cottage 
peeped from among the trees. Even at this dead hour of 
night there were lights moving upon the shore, probably oc- 
casioned by the unloading a smuggling lugger from the Isle 
of Man which was lying in the bay. On the light from the 
sashed door of the house being observed, a halloo from the 
vessel of ‘Ware hawk ! Douse the glim !’ alarmed those who 
were on shore, and the lights instantly disappeared. 

It was one hour after midnight, and the prospect around 
was lovely. The grey old towers of the ruin, partly entire, 
partly broken, here bearing the rusty weather-stains of ages, 
and there partially mantled with ivy, stretched along the 
verge of the dark rock which rose on Mannering’s right 
hand. In his front was the quiet bay, whose little waves, 
crisping and sparkling to the moonbeams, rolled successively 
along its surface, and dashed with a soft and murmuring 
ripple against the silvery beach. To the left the woods ad- 
vanced far into the ocean, waving in the moonlight along 
ground of an undulating and varied form, and presenting 
those varieties of light and shade, and that interesting com- 
bination of glade and thicket, upon which the eye delights to 
rest, charmed with what it sees, yet curious to pierce still 
deeper into the intricacies of the woodland scenery. Above 
rolled the planets, each, by its own liquid orbit of light, dis- 

21 


GUY MANNERING 


tinguished from the inferior or more distant stars. So 
strangely can imagination deceive even those by whose voli- 
tion it has been excited, that Mannering, while gazing upon 
these brilliant bodies, was half inclined to believe in the influ- 
ence ascribed to them by superstition over human events. 
But Mannering was a youthful lover, and might perhaps be 
influenced by the feelings so exquisitely expressed by a mod- 
ern poet : — 

For fable is Love’s world, his home, his birthplace: 

Delightedly dwells he ’mong fays, and talismans. 

And spirits, and delightedly believes 
Divinities, being himself divine. 

The intelligible forms of ancient poets. 

The fair humanities of old religion, 

The power, the beauty, and the majesty. 

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain. 

Or forest, by slow stream, or pebbly spring. 

Or chasms and wat’ry depths — all these have vanish’d; 

They live no longer in the faith of reason ! 

But still the heart doth need a language, still 
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names. 

And to yon starry world they now are gone. 

Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth 
With man as with their friend, and to the lover 
Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 
Shoot influence down; and even at this day 
*Tis Jupiter who brings whate’er is great 
And Venus who brings everything that’s fair. 

Such musings soon gave way to others. 'Alas!’ he mut- 
tered, 'my good old tutor, who used to enter so deep into the 
controversy between Hey don and Chamber on the subject of 
astrology, he would have looked upon the scene with other 
eyes, and would have seriously endeavoured to discover from 
the respective positions of these luminaries their probable ef- 
fects on the destiny of the new-born infant, as if the courses 
or emanations of the stars superseded, or at least were co- 
ordinate with, Divine Providence. Well, rest be with him! 
he instilled into me enough of knowledge for erecting a 
scheme of nativity, and therefore will I presently go about it.’ 
So saying, and having noted the position of the principal 
planetary bodies, Guy Mannering returned to the house. 
The Laird met him in the parlour, and, acquainting him with 
great glee that the boy was a fine healthy little fellow, seemed 
rather disposed to press further conviviality. He admitted, 

22 


GUY MANNERING 


however, Mannering’s plea of weariness, and, conducting him 
to his sleeping apartment, left him to repose for the evening. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Come and see ! trust thine own eyes. 

A fearful sign stands in the house of life. 
An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind 
The radiance of thy planet. O be warned ! 


Coleridge, from Schiller. 



HE belief in astrology was almost universal in tHe mid- 


X die of the seventeenth century ; it began to waver and 
become doubtful towards the close of that period, and in the 
beginning of the eighteenth the art fell into general disrepute, 
and even under general ridicule. Yet it still retained many 
partizans even in the seats of learning. Grave and studious 
men were loth to relinquish the calculations which had early 
become the principal objects of their studies, and felt reluc- 
tant to descend from the predominating height to which a 
supposed insight into futurity, by the power of consulting ab- 
stract influences and conjunctions, had exalted them over the 
rest of mankind. 

Among those who cherished this imaginary privilege with 
undoubting faith was an old clergyman with whom Manner- 
ing was placed during his youth. He wasted his eyes in ob- 
serving the stars, and his brains in calculations upon their 
various combinations. His pupil, in early youth, naturally 
caught some portion of his enthusiasm, and laboured for a 
time to make himself master of the technical process of astro- 
logical research; so that, before he became convinced of its 
absurdity, William Lilly himself would have allowed him ^a 
curious fancy and piercing judgment in resolving a question 
of nativity.’ 

On the present occasion he arose as early in the morning 
as the shortness of the day permitted, and proceeded to calcu- 
late the nativity of the young heir of Ellangowan. He un- 
dertook the task secundum artem, as well to keep up appear- 
ances as from a sort of curiosity to know whether he yet re- 


GUY MANNERING 


membered, and could practise, the imaginary science. He 
accordingly erected his scheme, or figure of heaven, divided 
into its twelve houses, placed the planets therein according 
to the ephemeris, and rectified their position to the hour and 
moment of the nativity. Without troubling our readers with 
the general prognostications which judicial astrology would 
have inferred from these circumstances, in this diagram there 
was one significator which pressed remarkably upon our as- 
trologer’s attention. Mars, having dignity in the cusp of the 
twelfth house, threatened captivity or sudden and violent 
death to the native ; and Mannering, having recourse to those 
further rules by which diviners pretend to ascertain the 
vehemency of this evil direction, observed from the result 
that three periods would be particularly hazardous — his fifth, 
his tenth, his twenty-first year. 

It was somewhat remarkable that Mannering had once be- 
fore tried a similar piece of foolery at the instance of Sophia 
Well wood, the young lady to whom he was attached, and that 
a similar conjunction of planetary influence threatened her 
with death or imprisonment in her thirty-ninth year. She 
was at this time eighteen ; so that, according to the result of 
the scheme in both cases, the same year threatened her with 
the same misfortune that was presaged to the native or infant 
whom that night had introduced into the world. Struck with 
this coincidence, Mannering repeated his calculations ; and 
the result approximated the events predicted, until at length 
the same month, and day of the month, seemed assigned as 
the period of peril to both. 

It will be readily believed that, in mentioning this circum- 
stance, we lay no weight whatever upon the pretended in- 
formation thus conveyed. But it often happens, such is our 
natural love for the marvellous, that we willingly contribute 
our own efforts to beguile our better judgments. Whether 
the coincidence which I have mentioned was really one of 
those singular chances which sometimes happen against all 
ordinary calculations ; or whether Mannering, bewildered 
amid the arithmetical labyrinth and technical jargon of as- 
trology, had insensibly twice followed the same clue to guide 
him out of the maze ; or whether his imagination, seduced by 
some point of apparent resemblance, lent its aid to make the 

24 


GUY MANNERING 


similitude between the two operations more exactly accurate 
than it might otherwise have been, it is impossible to guess ; 
but the impression upon his mind that the results exactly cor- 
responded was vividly and indelibly strong. 

He could not help feeling surprise at a coincidence so 
singular and unexpected. ‘Does the devil mingle in the 
dance, to avenge himself for our trifling with an art said to 
be of magical origin? Or is it possible, as Bacon and Sir 
Thomas Browne admit, that there is some truth in a sober 
and regulated astrology, and that the influence of the stars 
is not to be denied, though the due application of it by the 
knaves who pretend to practise the art is greatly to be sus- 
pected?' A moment’s consideration of the subject induced 
him to dismiss this opinion as fantastical, and only sanctioned 
by those learned men either because they durst not at once 
shock the universal prejudices of their age, or because they 
themselves were not altogether freed from the contagious in^ 
fluence of a prevailing superstition. Yet the result of his 
calculations in these two instances left so unpleasing an im- 
pression on his mind that, like Prospero, he mentally relin- 
quished his art, and resolved, neither in jest nor earnest, ever 
again to practise judicial astrology. 

He hesitated a good deal what he should say to the Laird 
of Ellangowan concerning the horoscope of his first-born ; 
and at length resolved plainly to tell him the judgment which 
he had formed, at the same time acquainting him with the 
futility of the rules of art on which he had proceeded. With 
this resolution he walked out upon the terrace. 

If the view of the scene around Ellangowan had been 
pleasing by moonlight, it lost none of its beauty by the light 
of the morning sun. The land, even in the month of No- 
vember, smiled under its influence. A steep but regular as- 
cent led from the terrace to the neighbouring eminence, and 
conducted Mannering to the front of the 'old castle. It con- 
sisted of two massive round towers projecting deeply and 
darkly at the extreme angles of a curtain, or flat wall, which 
united them, and thus protecting the main entrance, that 
opened through a lofty arch in the centre of the curtain into 
the inner court of the castle. The arms of the family, carved 
in freestone, frowned over the gateway, and the portal 

25 


GUY MANNERING 


showed the spaces arranged by the architect for lowering the 
portcullis and raising the drawbridge. A rude farm-gate, 
made of young fir-trees nailed together, now formed the only 
safeguard of this once formidable entrance. The esplanade 
in front of the castle commanded a noble prospect. 

The dreary scene of desolation through which Mannering’s 
road had lain on the preceding evening was excluded from 
the view by some rising ground, and the landscape showed a 
pleasing alternation of hill and dale, intersected by a river, 
which was in some places visible, and hidden in others, where 
it rolled betwixt deep and wooded banks. The spire of a 
church and the appearance of some houses indicated the situ- 
ation of a village at the place where the stream had its junc- 
tion with the ocean. The vales seemed well cultivated, the 
little inclosures into which they were divided skirting the 
bottom of the hills, and sometimes carrying their lines of 
straggling hedgerows a little way up the ascent. Above 
these were green pastures, tenanted chiefly by herds of black 
cattle, then the staple commodity of the country, whose dis- 
tant low gave no unpleasing animation to the landscape. The 
remoter hills were of a sterner character, and, at still greater 
distance, swelled into mountains of dark heath, bordering the 
horizon with a screen which gave a defined and limited boun- 
dary to the cultivated country, and added at the same time 
the pleasing idea that it was sequestered and solitary. The 
sea-coast, which Mannering now saw in its extent, corre- 
sponded in variety and beauty with the inland view. In 
some places it rose into tall rocks, frequently crowned with 
the ruins of old buildings, towers, or beacons, which, accord- 
ing to tradition, were placed within sight of each other, that, 
in times of invasion or civil war, they might communicate by 
signal for mutual defence and protection. Ellangowan Castle 
was by far the most extensive and important of these ruins, 
and asserted from size and situation the superiority which its 
founders were said once to have possessed among the chiefs 
and nobles of the district. In other places the shore was of 
a more gentle description, indented with small bays, where 
the land sloped smoothly down, or sent into the sea promon- 
tories covered with wood. 

A scene so different from what last nighCs journey had 
26 


GUY MANNERING 


presaged produced a proportional effect upon Mannering. 
Beneath his eye lay the modern house — an awkward mansion, 
indeed, in point of architecture, but well situated, and with a 
warm, pleasant exposure. ‘How happily,’ thought our hero, 
‘would life glide on in such a retirement ! On the one hand, 
the striking remnants of ancient grandeur, with the secret 
consciousness of family pride which they inspire ; on the 
other, enough of modern elegance and comfort to satisfy 
every moderate wish. Here then, and with thee, Sophia!’ 

We shall not pursue a lover’s day-dream any farther. 
Mannering stood a minute with his arms folded, and then 
turned to the ruined castle. 

On entering the gateway, he found that the rude magnifi- 
cence of the inner court amply corresponded with the gran- 
deur of the exterior. On the one side ran a range of win- 
dows lofty and large, divided by carved mullions of stone, 
which had once lighted the great hall of the castle; on the 
other were various buildings of different heights and dates, 
yet so united as to present to the eye a certain general effect 
of uniformity of front. The doors and windows were orna- 
mented with projections exhibiting rude specimens of sculp- 
ture and tracery, partly entire and partly broken down, partly 
covered by ivy and trailing plants, which grew luxuriantly 
among the ruins. That end of the court which faced the en- 
trance had also been formerly closed by a range of buildings ; 
but owing, it was said, to its having been battered by the 
ships of the Parliament under Deane, during the long civil 
war, this part of the castle was much more ruinous than the 
rest, and exhibited a great chasm, through which Mannering 
could observe the sea, and the little vessel (an armed lug- 
ger), which retained her station in the centre of the bay.^ 
While Mannering was gazing round the ruins, he heard from 
the interior of an apartment on the loft hand the voice of the 
gipsy he had seen on the preceding evening. He soon found 
an aperture through which he could observe her without be- 
ing himself visible ; and could not help feeling that her figure, 

' The outline of the above description, as far as the supposed ruins 
are concerned, will be found somewhat to resemble the noble remains 
of Carlaverock Castle, six or seven miles from Dumfries, and near 
to Lochar Moss. 


27 


GUY MANNERING 


her employment, and her situation conveyed the exact im- 
pression of an ancient sibyl. 

She sate upon a broken corner-stone in the angle of a 
paved apartment, part of which she had swept clean to afford 
a smooth space for the evolutions of her spindle. A strong 
sunbeam through a lofty and narrow window fell upon her 
wild dress and features, and afforded her light for her occu- 
pation; the rest of the apartment was very gloomy. Equipt 
in a habit which mingled the national dress of the Scottish 
common people with something of an Eastern costume, she 
spun a thread drawn from wool of three different colours, 
black, white, and grey, by assistance of those ancient imple- 
ments of housewifery now almost banished from the land, 
the distaff and spindle. As she spun, she sung what seemed 
to be a charm. Mannering, after in vain attempting to make 
himself master of the exact words of her song, afterwards at- 
tempted the following paraphrase of what, from a few intel- 
ligible phrases, he concluded to be its purport : — 

Twist ye, twine ye! even so 
Mingle shades of joy and woe, 

Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife. 

In the thread of human life. 

While the mystic twist is spinning. 

And the infant’s life beginning. 

Dimly seen through twilight bending, 

Lo, what varied shapes attending I 

Passions wild, and Follies vain. 

Pleasures soon exchanged for pain. 

Doubt, and Jealousy, and Fear 
In the magic dance appear. 

Now they wax, and now they dwindle, 

Whirling with the whirling spindle. 

Twist ye, twine ye I even so 
Mingle human bliss and woe. 

Ere our translator, or rather our free imitator, had ar- 
ranged these stanzas in his head, and while he was yet ham- 
mering out a rhyme for dwindle, the task of the sibyl was 
accomplished, or her wool was expended. She took the 
spindle, now charged with her labours, and, undoing the 
thread gradually, measured it by casting it over her elbow 

28 


GUY MANNERING 


and bringing each loop round between her forefinger and 
thumb. When she had measured it out, she muttered to her- 
self — ‘A hank, but not a haill ane — the full years o’ three 
score and ten, but thrice broken, and thrice to oop {i,e. to 
unite) ; he’ll be a lucky lad an he win through wi’t.’ 

Our hero was about to speak to the prophetess, when a 
voice, hoarse as the waves with which it mingled, hallooed 
twice, and with increasing impatience — ‘Meg, Meg Merrilies ! 
Gipsy — hag — tausend deyvils !’ 

‘I am coming, I am coming. Captain,’ answered Meg; and 
in a moment or two the impatient commander whom she ad- 
dressed made his appearance from the broken part of the 
ruins. 

He was apparently a seafaring man, rather under the mid- 
dle size, and with a countenance bronzed by a thousand con- 
flicts with the north-east wind. His frame was prodigiously 
muscular, strong, and thick-set ; so that it seemed as if a man 
of much greater height would have been an inadequate match 
in any close personal conflict. He was hard-favoured, and, 
which was worse, his face bore nothing of the insouciance, 
the careless, frolicsome jollity and vacant curiosity, of a sailor 
on shore. These qualities, perhaps, as much as any others, 
contribute to the high popularity of our seamen, and the gen- 
eral good inclination which our society expresses towards 
them. Their gallantry, courage, and hardihood are qualities 
which excite reverence, and perhaps rather humble pacific 
landsmen in their presence; and neither respect nor a sense 
of humiliation are feelings easily combined with a familiar 
fondness towards those who inspire them. But the boyish, 
frolics, the exulting high spirits, the unreflecting mirth of a 
sailor when enjoying himself on shore, temper the more for- 
midable points of his character. There was nothing like 
these in this man’s face; on the contrary, a surly and even 
savage scowl appeared to darken features which would have 
been harsh and unpleasant under any expression or modifica- 
tion. ‘Where are you. Mother Deyvilson?’ he said, with 
somewhat of a foreign accent, though speaking perfectly 
good English. ‘Donner and blitzen ! we have been staying 
this half-hour. Come, bl^ss the good ship and the voyage, 
and be cursed to ye for a hag of Satan !’ 

29 


GUY MANNERING 


At this moment he noticed Mannering, who, from the posi- 
tion which he had taken to watch Meg Merrilies's incanta- 
tions, had the appearance of some one who was concealing 
himself, being half hidden by the buttress behind which he 
stood. The Captain, for such he styled himself, made a sud- 
den and startled pause, and thrust his right hand into his 
bosom between his jacket and waistcoat as if to draw some 
weapon. ‘What cheer, brother? you seem on the out- 
look, eh?’ 

Ere Mannering, somewhat struck by the man’s gesture and 
insolent tone of voice, had made any answer, the gipsy 
emerged from her vault and joined the stranger. He ques- 
tioned her in an undertone, looking at Mannering — ‘A shark 
alongside, eh?’ 

She answered in the same tone of under-dialogue, using 
the cant language of her tribe — ‘Cut ben whids, and stow 
them ; a gentry cove of the ken.’^ 

The fellow’s cloudy visage cleared up. ‘The top of the 
morning to you, sir ; I find you are a visitor of my friend Mr. 
Bertram. I beg pardon, but I took you for another sort of 
a person.’ 

Mannering replied, ‘And you, sir, I presume, are the mas- 
ter of that vessel in the bay?’ 

‘Ay, ay, sir; I am Captain Dirk Hatteraick, of the “Yung- 
frauw Hagenslaapen,” well known on this coast; I am not 
ashamed of my name, nor my vessel — no, nor of my cargo 
neither for that matter.’ 

‘I daresay you have no reason, sir.’ 

‘Tausend donner, no; I’m all in the way of fair trade. Just 
loaded yonder at Douglas, in the Isle of Man — neat cogniac 
— real hyson and souchong — Mechlin lace, if you want any — 
right cogniac — we bumped ashore a hundred kegs last night.’ 

‘Really, sir, I am only a traveller, and have no sort of occa- 
sion for anything of the kind at present.’ 

‘Why, then, good-morning to you, for business must be 
minded — unless ye’ll go aboard and take schnaps; you shall 
have a pouch-full of tea ashore. Dirk Hatteraick knows how 
to be civil !’ 


"Meaning— Stop your uncivil language; that is a gentleman from 
the house below. 

30 


GUY MANNERING 


There was a mixture of impudence, hardihood, and sus- 
picious fear about this man which was inexpressibly disgust- 
ing. His manners were those of a ruffian, conscious of the 
suspicion attending his character, yet aiming to bear it down 
by the affectation of a careless and hardy familiarity. Man- 
nering briefly rejected his proffered civilities; and, after a 
surly good-morning, Hatteraick retired with the gipsy to that 
part of the ruins from which he had first made his appear- 
ance. A very narrow staircase here went down to the beach, 
intended probably for the convenience of the garrison during 
a siege. By this stair the couple, equally amiable in appear- 
ance and respectable by profession, descended to the sea-side. 
The soi-disant captain embarked in a small boat with two 
men, who appeared to wait for him, and the gipsy remained 
on the shore, reciting or singing, and gesticulating with great 
vehemence. 


CHAPTER V. 


You have fed upon my seignories, 

Dispark’d my parks, and fell’d my forest woods. 
From mine own windows torn my household coat. 
Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign. 

Save men’s opinions and my living blood. 

To show the world I am a gentleman. 


Richard II. 



HEN the boat which carried the worthy captain on 


▼ V board his vessel had accomplished that task, the sails 
began to ascend, and the ship was got under way. She fired 
three guns as a salute to the house of Ellangowan, and then 
shot away rapidly before the wind, which blew off shore, 
under all the sail she could crowd. 

'Ay, ay,’ said the Laird, who had sought Mannering for 
some time, and now joined him, 'there they go — there go the 
free-traders — there go Captain Dirk Hatteraick and the 
“Yungfrauw Hagenslaapen,” half Manks, half Dutchman, 
half devil ! run out the boltsprit, up mainsail, top and top-gal- 
lant sails, royals, and skyscrapers, and away — follow who 
can! That fellow, Mr. Mannering, is the terror of all the 


GUY MANNERING 


the front gallery facing the minister, rather than Mac-Cross- 
kie of Creochstone, the son of Deacon Mac-Crosskie, the 
Dumfries weaver?' 

Mannering expressed his acquiescence in the justice of 
these various complaints. 

‘And then, Mr. Mannering, there was the story about the 
road and the fauld-dike. I ken Sir Thomas was behind 
there, and I said plainly to the clerk to the trustees that I saw 
the cloven foot, let them take that as they like. Would any 
gentleman, or set of gentlemen, go and drive a road right 
through the corner of a fauld-dike and take away, as my 
agent observed to them, like twa roods of gude moorland 
pasture? And there was the story about choosing the col- 
lector of the cess ' 

‘Certainly, sir, it is hard you should meet with any neglect 
in a country where, to judge from the extent of their resi- 
dence, your ancestors must have made a very important 
figure.' 

‘Very true, Mr. Mannering; I am a plain man and do not 
dwell on these things, and I must needs say I have little 
memory for them; but I wish ye could 'have heard my fath- 
er’s stories about the auld fights of the Mac-Dingawaies — 
that’s the Bertrams that now is — wi’ the Irish and wi' the 
Highlanders that came here in their berlings from Hay and 
Cantire; and how they went to the Holy Land — that is, to 
Jerusalem and Jericho, wi’ a’ their clan at their heels — they 
had better have gaen to Jamaica, like Sir Thomas Kittle- 
court’s uncle — and how they brought hame relics like those 
that Catholics have, and a flag that’s up yonder in the garret. 
If they had been casks of muscavado and puncheons of rum 
it would have been better for the estate at this day; but 
there’s little comparison between the auld keep at Kittlecourt 
and the castle o’ Ellangowan ; I doubt if the keep’s forty feet 
of front. But ye make no breakfast, Mr. Mannering; ye’r6 
no eating your meat; allow me to recommend some of the 
kipper. It was John Hay that catcht it, Saturday was three 
weeks, down at the stream below Hempseed ford,’ etc. etc. 
etc. 

The Laird, whose indignation had for some time kept him 
pretty steady to one topic, now launched forth into his usual 

34 


GUY MANNERING 

roving style of conversation, which gave Mannering ample 
time to reflect upon the disadvantages attending the situation 
which an hour before he had thought worthy of so much 
envy. Here was a country gentleman, whose most estimable 
quality seemed his perfect good-nature, secretly fretting him- 
self and murmuring against others for causes which, com- 
pared with any real evil in life, must weigh like dust in the 
balance. But such is the equal distribution of Providence. 
To those who lie out of the road of great afflictions are as- 
signed petty vexations which answer all the purpose of dis- 
turbing their serenity; and every reader must have observed 
that neither natural apathy nor acquired philosophy can ren- 
der country gentlemen insensible to the grievances which 
occur at elections, quarter-sessions, and meetings of trustees. 

Curious to investigate the manners of the country, Man- 
nering took the advantage of a pause in good Mr. Bertram’s 
string of stories to inquire what Captain Hatteraick so ear- 
nestly wanted with the gipsy woman. 

‘O, to bless his ship, I suppose. You must know, Mr. 
Mannering, that these free-traders, whom the law calls 
smugglers, having no religion, make it all up in superstition ; 
and they have as many spells and charms and nonsense ’ 

‘Vanity and waur !’ said the Dominie ; ‘it is a trafficking 
with the Evil One. Spells, periapts, and charms are of his 
device — choice arrows out of Apollyon’s quiver.’ 

‘Hold your peace. Dominie; ye’re speaking for ever’ — by 
the way, they were the first words the poor man had uttered 
that morning, excepting that he said grace and returned 
thanks — ‘Mr. Mannering cannot get in a word for ye ! And 
so, Mr. Mannering, talking of astronomy and spells and these 
matters, have ye been so kind as to consider what we were 
speaking about last night ?’ 

‘I begin to think, Mr. Bertram, with your worthy friend 
here, that I have been rather jesting with edge-tools; and 
although neither you nor I, nor any sensible man, can put 
faith in the predictions of astrology, yet, as it has sometimes 
happened that inquiries into futurity, undertaken in jest, have 
in their results produced serious and unpleasant effects both 
upon actions and characters, I really wish you would dispense 
with my replying to your question.’ 

35 


GUV MANNERING 


It was easy to see that this evasive answer only rendered 
the Laird’s curiosity more uncontrollable. Mannering, how- 
ever, was determined in his own mind not to expose the in- 
fant to the inconveniences which might have arisen from his 
being supposed the object of evil prediction. He therefore 
delivered the paper into Mr. Bertram’s hand, and requested 
him to keep it for five years with the seal unbroken, until the 
month of November was expired. After that date had inter- 
vened he left him at liberty to examine the writing, trusting 
that, the first fatal period being then safely overpassed, no 
credit would be paid to its farther contents. This Mr. Ber- 
tram was content to promise, and Mannering, to ensure his 
fidelity, hinted at misfortunes which would certainly take 
place if his injunctions were neglected. The rest of the day, 
which Mannering, by Mr. Bertram’s invitation, spent at 
Ellangowan, passed over without anything remarkable; and 
on the morning of that which followed the traveller mounted 
his palfrey, bade a courteous adieu to his hospitable landlord 
and to his clerical attendant, repeated his good wishes for the 
prosperity of the family, and then, turning his horse’s head 
towards England, disappeared from the sight of the inmates 
of Ellangowan, He must also disappear from that of our 
readers, for it is to another and later period of his life that 
the present narrative relates. 


CHAPTER VL 


Next, the Justice, 

In fair round belly, with good capon lined. 

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 

Full of wise saws and modern instances — 

And so he plays his part. 

As You Like It. 

W HEN Mrs. Bertram of Ellangowan was able to hear 
the news of what had passed during her confinement, 
her apartment rung with all manner of gossiping respecting 
the handsome young student from Oxford who had told such 
a fortune by the stars to the young Laird, 'blessings on his 
dainty face.’ The form, accent, and manners of the stranger 


GUY MANNERING 


were expatiated upon. His horse, bridle, saddle, and stirrups 
did not remain unnoticed. All this made a great impression 
upon the mind of Mrs. Bertram, for the good lady had no 
small store of superstition. 

Her first employment, when she became capable of a little 
work, was to make a small velvet bag for the scheme of na- 
tivity which she had obtained from her husband. Her fingers 
itched to break the seal, but credulity proved stronger than 
curiosity ; and she had the firmness to inclose it, in all its in- 
tegrity, within two slips of parchment, which she sewed 
round it to prevent its being chafed. The whole was then put 
into the velvet bag aforesaid, and hung as a charm round the 
neck of the infant, where his mother resolved it should re- 
main until the period for the legitimate satisfaction of her 
curiosity should arrive. 

The father also resolved to do his part by the child in 
securing him a good education; and, with the view that it 
should commence with the first dawnings of reason. Dominie 
Sampson was easily induced to renounce his public profession 
of parish schoolmaster, make his constant residence at the 
Place, and, in consideration of a sum not quite equal to the 
wages of a footman even at that time, to undertake to com- 
municate to the future Laird of Ellangowan all the erudition 
which he had, and all the graces and accomplishments which 
— he had not indeed, but which he had never discovered that 
he wanted. In this arrangement the Laird found also his 
private advantage, securing the constant benefit of a patient 
auditor, to whom he told his stories when they were alone, 
and at whose expense he could break a sly jest when he had 
company. 

About four years after this time a great commotion took 
place in the county where Ellangowan is situated. 

Those who watched the signs of the times had long been 
of opinion that a change of ministry was about to take place ; 
and at length, after a due proportion of hopes, fears, and de- 
lays, rumours from good authority and bad authority, and no 
authority at all; after some clubs had drank Up with this 
statesman and others Down with him ; after riding, and run- 
ning, and posting, and addressing, and counter-addressing, 
and proffers of lives and fortunes, the blow was at length 

37 


GUY MANNERING 


struck, the administration of the day was dissolved, and par- 
liament, as a natural consequence, was dissolved also. 

Sir Thomas Kittlecourt, like other members in the same 
situation, posted down to his county, and met but an indif- 
ferent reception. He was a partizan of the old administra- 
tion; and the friends of the new had already set about an 
active canvass in behalf of John Featherhead, Esq., who kept 
the best 'hounds and hunters in the shire. Among others who 
joined the standard of revolt was Gilbert Glossin, writer in 
, agent for the Laird of Ellangowan. This honest gen- 
tleman had either been refused some favour by the old mern- 
ber, or, what is as probable, he had got all that he had the 
most distant pretension to ask, and could only look to the 
other side for fresh advancement. Mr. Glossin had a vote 
upon Ellangowan's property; and he was now determined 
that his patron should have one also, there being no doubt 
which side Mr. Bertram would embrace in the contest. He 
easily persuaded Ellangowan that it would be creditable to 
him to take the field at the head of as strong a party as pos- 
sible ; and immediately went to work, making votes, as every 
Scotch lawyer knows how, by splitting and subdividing the 
superiorities upon this ancient and once powerful barony. 
These were so extensive that, by dint of clipping and paring 
here, adding and eking there, and creating over-lords upon 
all the estate which Bertram held of the crown, they ad- 
vanced at the day of contest at the head of ten as good men 
of parchment as ever took the oath of trust and possession. 
This strong reinforcement turned the dubious day of battle. 
The principal and his agent divided the honour; the reward 
fell to the latter exclusively. Mr. Gilbert Glossin was made 
clerk of the peace, and Godfrey Bertram had his name insert- 
ed in a new commission of justices, issued immediately upon 
the sitting of the parliament. 

This had been the summit of Mr. Bertram’s ambition ; not 
that he liked either the trouble or the responsibility of the 
office, but he thought it was a dignity to which he was well 
entitled, and that it had been withheld from him by malice 
prepense. But there is an old and true Scotch proverb. Tools 
should not have chapping sticks’ ; that is, weapons of offence. 
Mr. Bertram was no sooner possessed of the judicial au- 

38 


GUY MANNERING 


thority which he had so much longed for than he began to 
exercise it with more severity than mercy, and totally belied 
all the opinions which had hitherto been formed of his inert 
good-nature. We have read somewhere of a justice of peace 
who, on being nominated in the commission, wrote a letter 
to a bookseller for the statutes respecting his official duty in 
the following orthography — 'Please send the ax relating to a 
gustus pease.’ No doubt, when this learned gentleman had 
possessed himself of the axe, he hewed the laws with it to 
some purpose. Mr. Bertram was not quite so ignorant of 
English grammar as his worshipful predecessor; but Augus- 
tus Pease himself could not have used more indiscriminately 
the weapon unwarily put into his hand. 

In good earnest, he considered the commission with which 
he had been entrusted as a personal mark of favour from his 
sovereign ; forgetting that he had formerly thought his being 
deprived of a privilege, or honour, common to those of his 
rank was the result of mere party cabal. He commanded his 
trusty aid-de-camp. Dominie Sampson, to read aloud the 
commission; and at the first words, ‘The King has been 
pleased to appoint’ — ‘Pleased!’ he exclaimed, in a transport 
of gratitude ; ‘honest gentleman ! I’m sure he cannot be better 
pleased than I am.’ 

Accordingly, unwilling to confine his gratitude to mere 
feelings or verbal expressions, he gave full current to the 
new-born zeal of office, and endeavoured to express his sense 
of the honour conferred upon him by an unmitigated activity 
in the discharge of his duty. New brooms, it is said, sweep 
clean ; and I myself can bear witness that, on the arrival of a 
new housemaid, the ancient, hereditary, and domestic spiders 
who have spun their webs over the lower division of my 
book-shelves (consisting chiefly of law and divinity) during 
the peaceful reign of her predecessor, fly at full speed before 
the probationary inroads of the new mercenary. Even so the 
Laird of Ellengowan ruthlessly commenced his magisterial 
reform, at the expense of various established and superannu- 
ated pickers and stealers who had been his neighbours for 
half a century. He wrought his miracles like a second Duke 
Humphrey; and by the influence of the beadle’s rod caused 
the lame to walk, the blind to see, and the palsied to labour. 

39 


GUY MANNERING 


He detected poachers, black-fishers, orchard-breakers, and 
pigeon-shooters; had the applause of the bench for his re- 
ward, and the public credit of an active magistrate. 

All this good had its rateable proportion of evil. Even an 
admitted nuisance of ancient standing should not be abated 
without some caution. The zeal of our worthy friend now 
involved in great distress sundry personages whose idle and 
mendicant habits his own lachesse had contributed to foster, 
until these habits had become irreclaimable, or whose real 
incapacity for exertion rendered them fit objects, in their 
own phrase, for the charity of all well-disposed Christians. 
The ‘long-remembered beggar,’ who for twenty years had 
made his regular rounds within the neighbourhood, received 
rather as an humble friend than as an object of charity, was 
sent to the neighbouring workhouse. The decrepit dame, 
who travelled round the parish upon a hand-barrow, circulat- 
ing from house to house like a bad shilling, which every one 
is in haste to pass to his neighbour, — she, who used to call 
for her bearers as loud, or louder, than a traveller demands 
post-horses, — even she shared the same disastrous fate. The 
‘daft Jock,’ who, half knave, half idiot, had been the sport of 
each succeeding race of village children for a good part of a 
century, was remitted to the county bridewell, where, se- 
cluded from free air and sunshine, the only advantages he 
was capable of enjoying, he pined and died in the course of 
six months. The old sailor, who had so long rejoiced the 
smoky rafters of every kitchen in the country by singing 
‘Captain Ward’ and ‘Bold Admiral Benbow,’ was banished 
from the county for no better reason than that he was sup- 
posed to speak with a strong Irish accent. Even the annual 
rounds of the pedlar were abolished by the Justice, in his 
hasty zeal for the administration of rural police. 

These things did not pass without notice and censure. We 
are not made of wood or stone, and the things which connect 
themselves with our hearts and habits cannot, like bark or 
lichen, be rent away without our missing them. The far- 
mer’s dame lacked her usual share of intelligence, perhaps 
also the self-applause which she had felt while distributing 
the awmous (alms), in the shape of a gowpen (handful) of 
oatmeal, to the mendicant who brought the news. The cot- 

40 


GUY MANNERING 


tage felt inconvenience from interruption of the petty trade 
carried on by the itinerant dealers. The children lacked their 
supply of sugar-plums and toys ; the young women wanted 
pins, ribbons, combs, and ballads ; and the old could no longer 
barter their eggs for salt, snuff, and tobacco. All these cir- 
cumstances brought the busy Laird of Ellangowan into dis- 
credit, which was the more general on account of his former 
popularity. Even his lineage was brought up in judgment 
against him. They thought ‘naething of what the like of 
Greenside, or Burnville, or Viewforth might do, that were 
strangers in the country; but Ellangowan! that had been a 
name amang them since the Mirk Monanday, and lang be- 
fore — him to be grinding the puir at that rate ! They ca’d his 
grandfather the Wicked Laird; but, though he was whiles 
fractious aneuch, when he got into roving company and had 
ta’en the drap drink, he would have scorned to gang on at 
this gate. Na, na, the muckle chumlay in the Auld Place 
reeked like a killogie in his time, and there were as mony 
puir folk riving at the banes in the court, and about the door, 
as there were gentles in the ha’. And the leddy, on ilka 
Christmas night as it came round, gae twelve siller pennies 
to ilka puir body about, in honour of the twelve apostles like. 
They were fond to ca’ it papistrie ; but I think our great folk 
might take a lesson frae the papists whiles. They gie an- 
other sort o’ help to puir folk than just dinging down a six- 
pence in the brod on the Sabbath, and kilting, and scourging, 
and drumming them a’ the sax days o’ the week besides.’ 

Such was the gossip over the good twopenny in every ale- 
house within three or four miles of Ellengowan, that being 
about the diameter of the orbit in which our friend Godfrey 
Bertram, Esq., J.P., must be considered as the principal lumi- 
nary. Still greater scope was given to evil tongues by the re- 
moval of a colony of gipsies, with one of whom our reader is 
somewhat acquainted, and who had for a great many years 
enjoyed their chief settlement upon the estate of Ellangowan. 


41 


GUYi MANNERING 


CHAPTER VIL 


Come, princes of the ragged regiment, 

You of the blood ! Prigg, my most upright lord. 
And these, what name or title e’er they bear, 
Jarkman, or Patrico, Cranke or Clapper-dudgeon, 
Prater or Abram-man — I speak of all. 


BeggaPs Bush, 


LTHOUGH the character of those gipsy tribes which 



formerly inundated most of the nations of Europe, 
and which in some degree still subsist among them as a dis- 
tinct people, is generally understood, the reader will pardon 
my saying a few words respecting their situation in Scot- 


land. 


It is well known that the gipsies were at an early period 
acknowledged as a separate and independent race by one of 
the Scottish monarchs, and that they were less favourably 
distinguished by a subsequent law, which rendered the char- 
acter of gipsy equal in the judicial balance to that of common 
and habitual thief, and prescribed his punishment accord- 
ingly. Notwithstanding the severity of this and other stat- 
utes, the fraternity prospered amid the distresses of the coun- 
try, and received large accessions from among those whom 
famine, oppression, or the sword of war had deprived of the 
ordinary means of subsistence. They lost in a great measure 
by this intermixture the national character of Egyptians, and 
became a mingled race, having all the idleness and predatory 
habits of their Eastern ancestors, with a ferocity which they 
probably borrowed from the men of the north who joined 
their society. They travelled in different bands, and had rules 
among themselves, by which each tribe was confined to its 
own district. The slightest invasion of the precincts which 
had been assigned to another tribe produced desperate skirm- 
ishes, in which there was often much blood shed. 

The patriotic Fletcher of Saltoun drew a picture of these 
banditti about a century ago, which my readers will peruse 
with astonishment: — 

There are at this day in Scotland (besides a great many 
poor families very meanly provided for by the church boxes. 


42 


GUY MANNERING 


with others who, by living on bad food, fall into various dis- 
eases) two hundred thousand people begging from door to 
door. These are not only no way advantageous, but a very 
grievous burden to so poor a country. And though the 
number of them be perhaps double to what it was formerly, 
by reason of this present great distress, yet in all times there 
have been about one hundred thousand of those vagabonds, 
who have lived without any regard or subjection either to 
the laws of the land or even those of God and nature. 
* * * * * No magistrate could ever discover, or be 

informed, which way one in a hundred of these wretches 
died, or that ever they were baptized. Many murders have 
been discovered among them; and they are not only a most 
unspeakable oppression to poor tenants (who, if they give 
not bread or some kind of provision to perhaps forty such 
villains in one day, are sure to be insulted by them), but they 
rob many poor people who live in houses distant from any 
neighbourhood. In years of plenty, many thousands of them 
meet together in the mountains, where they feast and riot 
for many days ; and at country weddings, markets, burials, 
and other the like public occasions, they are to be seen, both 
man and woman, perpetually drunk, cursing, blaspheming, 
and fighting together.’ 

Notwithstanding the deplorable picture presented in this 
extract, and which Flkcher himself, though the energetic 
and eloquent friend of freedom, saw no better mode of cor- 
recting than by introducing a system of domestic slavery, the 
progress of time, and increase both of the means of life and 
of the power of the laws, gradually reduced this dreadful 
evil within more narrow bounds. The tribes of gipsies, jock- 
ies, or cairds — for by all these denominations such banditti 
were known — became few in number, and many were en- 
tirely rooted out. Still, however, a sufficient number re- 
mained to give occasional alarm and constant vexation. 
Some rude handicrafts were entirely, resigned to these itine- 
rants, particularly the art of trencher-making, of manufac- 
turing horn-spoons, and the whole mystery of the tinker. To 
these they added a petty trade in the coarse sorts of earthen- 
ware. Such were their ostensible means of livelihood. Each 
tribe had usually some fixed place of rendezvous, which they 

43 


GUY MANNERING 


occasionally occupied and considered as their standing camp, 
and in the vicinity of which they generally abstained from 
depredation. They had even talents and accomplishments, 
which made them occasionally useful and entertaining. Many 
cultivated music with success; and the favourite fiddler or 
piper of a district was often to be found in a gipsy town. 
They understood all out-of-door sports, especially otter-hunt- 
ing, fishing, or finding game. They bred the best and bold- 
est terriers, and sometimes had good pointers for sale. In 
winter the women told fortunes, the men showed tricks of 
legerdemain ; and these accomplishments often helped to 
while away a weary or stormy evening in the circle of the 
‘farmer’s ha’.’ The wildness of their character, and the in- 
domitable pride with which they despised all regular labour, 
commanded a certain awe, which was not diminished by the 
consideration that these strollers were a vindictive race, and 
were restrained by no check, either of fear or conscience, 
from taking desperate vengeance upon those who had offend- 
ed them. These tribes were, in short, the parias of Scotland, 
living like wild Indians among European settlers, and, like 
them, judged of rather by their own customs, habits, and 
opinions, than as if they had been members of the civilised 
part of the community. Some hordes of them yet remain, 
chiefly in such situations as afford a ready escape either into 
a waste country or into another jurisdiction. Nor are the 
features of their character much softened. Their numbers, 
however, are so greatly diminished that, instead of one hun- 
dred thousand, as calculated by Fletcher, it would now per- 
haps be impossible to collect above five hundred throughout 
all Scotland. 

A tribe of these itinerants, to whom Meg Merrilies apper- 
tained, had long been as stationary as their habits permitted 
in a glen upon the estate of Ellangowan. They had there 
erected a few huts, which they denominated their ‘city of 
refuge,’ and where, when not absent on excursions, they har- 
boured unmolested, as the crows that roosted in the old ash- 
trees around them. They had been such long occupants that 
they were considered in some degree as proprietors of the 
wretched shealings which they inhabited. This protection 
they were said anciently to have repaid by service to the 

44 


GUY MANNERING 


Laird in war, or more frequently, by infesting or plundering 
the lands of those neighbouring barons with whom he 
chanced to be at feud. Latterly their services were of a more 
pacific nature. The women spun mittens for the lady, and 
knitted boot-hose for the Laird, which were annually pre- 
sented at Christmas with great form. The aged sibyls blessed 
the bridal bed of the Laird when he married, and the cradle 
of the heir when born. The men repaired her ladyship’s 
cracked china, and assisted the Laird in his sporting parties, 
wormed his dogs, and cut the ears of his terrier puppies. 
The children gathered nuts in the woods, and cranberries in 
the moss, and mushrooms on the pastures, for tribute to the 
Place. These acts of voluntary service, and acknowledg- 
ments of dependence, were rewarded by protection on some 
occasions, connivance on others, and broken victuals, ale, and 
brandy when circumstances called for a display of gener- 
osity; and this mutual intercourse of good offices, which had 
been carried on for at least two centuries, rendered the in- 
habitants of Derncleugh a kind of privileged retainers upon 
the estate of Ellangowan. ‘The knaves’ were the Laird’s 
‘exceeding good friends’; and he would have deemed him- 
self very ill used if his countenance could not now and then 
have borne them out against the law of the country and the 
local magistrate. But this friendly union was soon to be dis- 
solved. 

The community of Derncleugh, who cared for no rogues 
but their own, were wholly without alarm at the severity of 
the Justice’s proceedings towards other itinerants. They had 
no doubt that he determined to suffer no mendicants or strol- 
lers in the country but what resided on his own property, and 
practised their trade by his immediate permission, implied 
or expressed. Nor was Mr. Bertram in a hurry to exert his 
newly acquired authority at the expense of these old settlers. 
But he was driven on by circumstances. 

At the quarter-sessions our new Justice was publicly up- 
braided by a gentleman of the opposite party in county poli- 
tics, that, while he affected a great zeal for the public police, 
and seemed ambitious of the fame of an active magistrate, 
he fostered a tribe of the greatest rogues in the country, and 
permitted them to harbour within a mile of the house of 

45 


GUY MANNERING 


Ellangowan. To this there was no reply, for the fact was 
too evident and well known. The Laird digested the taunt 
as he best could, and in his way home amused himself with 
speculations on the easiest method of ridding himself of these j 
vagrants, who brought a stain upon his fair fame as a magis- ! 
trate. Just as he had resolved to take the first opportunity j 
of quarrelling with the parias of Derncleugh, a cause of 
provocation presented itself. I 

Since our friend’s advancement to be a conservator of the 
peace, he had caused the gate at the head of his avenue, ' 
which formerly, having only one hinge, remained at all times ■ 
hospitably open — he had caused this gate, I say, to be* newly 
hung and handsomely painted. He had also shut up with j 
paling, curiously twisted with furze, certain holes in the 
fences adjoining, through which the gipsy boys used to 
scramble into the plantations to gather birds’ nests, the 
seniors of the village to make a short cut from one point to 
another, and the lads and lasses for evening rendezvous — all 
without offence taken or leave asking. But these halcyon 
days were now to have an end, and a minatory inscription 
on one side of the gate intimated ‘prosecution according to 
law’ (the painter had spelt it ‘persecution ’ — Vun vaut bien | 
V autre) to all who should be found trespassing on these in- | 
closures. On the other side, for uniformity’s sake, was a 
precautionary annunciation of spring-guns and man-traps of 
such formidable powers that, said the rubrick, with an em- i 
phatic nota bene — ‘if a man goes in they will break a horse’s | 
leg/ I 

In defiance of these threats, six well-grown gipsy boys and 
girls were riding cock-horse upon the new gate, and plait- | 
ing may-flowers, which it was but too evident had been i 
gathered within the forbidden precincts. With as much ^ 
anger as he was capable of feeling, or perhaps of assuming, , 
the Laird commanded them to descend; — they paid no atten- | 
tion to his mandate: he then began to pull them down one 
after another; — they resisted, passively at least, eacli sturdy 
bronzed varlet making himself as heavy as he could, or climb- j 
ing up as fast as he was dismounted. 

The Laird then called in the assistance of his servant, a 
surly fellow, who had immediate recourse to his horse-whip. 

46 


GUY MANNERING 


A few lashes sent the party a-scampering ; and thus com- 
menced the first breach of the peace between the house of 
Ellangowan and the gipsies of Derncleugh. 

The latter could not for some time imagine that the war 
was real; until they found that their children were horse- 
whipped by the grieve when found trespassing; that their 
asses were poinded by the ground-officer when left in the 
plantations, or even when turned to graze by the roadside, 
against the provision of the turnpike acts ; that the constable 
began to make curious inquiries into their mode of gaining 
a livelihood, and expressed his surprise that the men should 
sleep in the hovels all day, and be abroad the greater part of 
the night. 

When matters came to this point, the gipsies, without 
scruple, entered upon measures of retaliation. Ellangowan’s 
hen-roosts were plundered, his linen stolen from the lines or 
bleaching ground, his fishings poached, his dogs kidnapped, 
his growing trees cut or barked. Much petty mischief was 
done, and some evidently for mischief’s sake. On the other 
hand, warrants went forth, without mercy, to pursue, search 
for, take, and apprehend; and, notwithstanding their dex- 
terity, one or two of the depredators were unable to avoid 
conviction. One, a stout young fellow, who sometimes had 
gone to sea a-fishing, was handed over to the captain of the 

impress service at D ; two children were soundly flogged, 

and one Egyptian matron sent to the house of correction. 

Still, however, the gipsies made no motion to leave the spot 
which they had so long inhabited, and Mr. Bertram felt an 
unwillingness to deprive them of their ancient ‘city of 
refuge’ ; so that the petty warfare we have noticed continued 
for several months, without increase or abatement of hos- 
tilities on either side. 




GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER VIII. 

So the red Indian, by Ontario’s side, 

Nursed hardy on the brindled panther’s hide, 

As fades his swarthy race, with anguish sees 
The white man’s cottage rise beneath the trees; 

He leaves the shelter of his native wood, 

He leaves the murmur of Ohio’s flood. 

And forward rushing in indignant grief. 

Where never foot has trod the fallen leaf, 

He bends his course where twilight reigns sublime. 

O’er forests silent since the birth of time. 

Scenes of Infancy. 

I N tracing the rise and progress of the Scottish Maroon i 
war, we must not omit to mention that years had rolled 
on, and that little Harry Bertram, one of the hardiest and 
most lively children that ever made a sword and grenadier’s 
cap of rushes, now approached his fifth revolving birthday. 

A hardihood of disposition, which early developed itself, , 
made him already a little wanderer; he was well acquainted 
with every patch of lea ground and dingle around Ellan- 
gowan, and could tell in his broken language upon what 
baulks grew the bonniest flowers, and what copse had the 
ripest nuts. He repeatedly terrified his attendants by clam- 
bering about the ruins of the old castle, and had more than 
once made a stolen excursion as far as the gipsy hamlet. 

On these occasions he was generally brought back by Meg 
Merrilies, who, though she could not be prevailed upon to 
enter the Place of Ellangowan after her nephew had been 
given up to the press-gang, did not apparently extend her 
resentment to the child. On the contrary, she often contrived j 
to waylay him in his walks, sing him a gipsy song, give him 
a ride upon her jackass, and thrust into his pocket a piece of 
gingerbread or a- red-cheeked apple. This woman’s ancient 
attachment to the family, repelled and checked in every other 
direction, seemed to rejoice in having some object on which 
it could yet repose and expand itself. She prophesied a 
hundred times, ‘that young Mr. Harry would be the pride o’ 
the family, and there hadna been sic a sprout frae the auld 
aik since the death of Arthur Mac-Dingawaie, that was killed 
in the battle o’ the Bloody Bay; as for the present stick, it 

48 


GUY MANNERING 


was gcx)d for naething but firewood/ On one occasion, 
when the child was ill, she lay all night below the window, 
chanting a rhyme which she believed sovereign as a febri- 
fuge, and could neither be prevailed upon to enter the house 
nor to leave the station she had chosen till she was informed 
that the crisis was over. 

The affection of this woman became matter of suspicion, 
not indeed to the Laird, who was never hasty in suspecting 
evil, but to his wife, who had indifferent health and poor 
spirits. She was now far advanced in a second pregnancy, 
and, as she could not walk abroad herself, and the woman 
who attended upon Harry was young and thoughtless, she 
prayed Dominie Sampson to undertake the task of watching 
the boy in his rambles, when he should not be otherwise ac- 
companied. The Dominie loved his young charge, and was 
enraptured with his own success in having already brought 
him so far in his learning as to spell words of three syllables. 
The idea of this early prodigy of erudition being carried off 
by the gipsies, like a second Adam Smith,^ was not to be 
tolerated ; and accordingly, though the charge was contrary 
to all his habits of life, he readily undertook it, and might be 
seen stalking about with a mathematical problem in his head, 
and his eye upon a child of five years old, whose rambles led 
him into a hundred awkward situations. Twice was the 
Dominie chased by a cross-grained cow, once he fell into the 
brook crossing at the stepping-stones, and another time was 
bogged up to the middle in the slough of Lochend, in at- 
tempting to gather a water-lily for the young Laird. It was 
the opinion of the village matrons who relieved Sampson on 
the latter occasion, 'that the Laird might as weel trust the 
care o’ his bairn to a potatoe bogle’ ; but the good Dominie 
bore all his disasters with gravity and serenity equally im- 
perturbable. Tro-di-gi-ous !’ was the only ejaculation they 
ever extorted from the much-enduring man. 

The Laird had by this time determined to make root-and- 
branch work with the Maroons of Derncleugh. The old serv- 
ants shook their heads at this proposal, and even Dominie 

1 The father of Economical Philosophy was, when a child, actually 
carried off by gipsies, and remained some hours in their possession. 

4 49 


GUY MANNERING 


Sampson ventured upon an indirect remonstrance. As, how- 
ever, it was couched in the oracular phrase, ‘Ne moveas 
camerinam/ neither the allusion, nor the language in which 
it was expressed, were calculated for Mr. Bertram’s edifica- 
tion, and matters proceeded against the gipsies in form of 
law. Every door in the hamlet was chalked by the ground- 
officer, in token of a formal warning to remove at next term. 
Still, however, they showed no symptoms either of submis- 
sion or of compliance. At length the term-day, the fatal 
Martinmas, arrived, and violent measures of ejection were 
resorted to. A strong posse of peace-Qfficers, sufficient to 
render all resistance vain, charged the inhabitants to depart 
by noon; and, as they did not obey, the officers, in terms of 
their warrant, proceeded to unroof the cottages, and pull 
down the wretched doors and windows — a summary and 
effectual mode of ejection still practised in some remote parts 
of Scotland when a tenant proves refractory. The gipsies 
for a time beheld the work of destruction in sullen silence 
and inactivity; then set about saddling and loading their 
asses, and making preparations for their departure. These 
were soon accomplished, where all had the habits of wander- 
ing Tartars; and they set forth on their journey to seek new 
settlements, where their patrons should neither be of the 
quorum nor custos rotulorum. 

Certain qualms of feeling had deterred Ellangowan from 
attending in person to see his tenants expelled. He left the 
executive part of the business to the officers of the law, under 
the immediate direction of Frank Kennedy, a supervisor, or 
riding-officer, belonging to the excise, who had of late be- 
come intimate at the Place, and of whom we shall have more 
to say in the next chapter. Mr Bertram himself chose that 
day to make a visit to a friend at some distance. But it so 
happened, notwithstanding his precautions, that he could not 
avoid meeting his late tenants during their retreat from his 
property. 

It was in a hollow way, near the top of a steep ascent, upon 
the verge of the Ellangowan estate, that Mr. Bertram met 
the gipsy procession. Four or five men formed the ad- 
vanced guard, wrapped in long loose great-coats that hid 
their tall slender figures, as the large slouched hats, drawn 

50 


GUY MANNERING 


over their brows, concealed their wild features, dark eyes, 
and swarthy faces. Two of them carried long fowling- 
pieces, one wore a broadsword without a sheath, and all had 
the Highland dirk, though they did not wear that weapon 
openly or ostentatiously. Behind them followed the train of 
laden asses, and small carts or tumblers, as they were called 
in that country, on which were laid the decrepit and the 
helpless, the aged and infant part of the exiled community. 
The women in their red cloaks and straw hats, the elder 
children with bare heads and bare feet, and almost naked 
bodies, had the immediate care of the little caravan. The 
road was narrow, running between two broken banks of sand, 
and Mr. Bertram’s servant rode forward, smacking his whip 
with an air of authority, and motioning to the drivers to 
allow free passage to their betters. His signal was unat- 
tended to. He then called to the men who lounged idly on 
before, ‘Stand to your beasts’ heads, and make room for the 
Laird to pass.’ 

‘He shall have his share of the road,’ answered a male 
gipsy from under his slouched and large-brimmed hat, and 
without raising his face, ‘and he shall have nae mair; the 
highway is as free to our cuddies as to his gelding.’ 

The tone of the man being sulky, and even menacing, Mr. 
Bertram thought it best to put his dignity in his pocket, and 
pass by the procession quietly, on such space as they chose 
to leave for his accommodation, which was narrow enough. 
To cover with an appearance of indifference his feeling of 
the want of respect with which he was treated, he addressed 
one of the men, as he passed him without any show of greet*- 
ing, salute, or recognition — ‘ Giles Baillie,’ he said, ‘ have you 
heard that your son Gabriel is well?’ (The question re- 
spected the young man who had been pressed.) 

‘If I had heard otherwise,’ said the old man, looking up 
with a stern and menacing countenance, ‘ you should have 
heard of it too.’ And he plodded on his way, tarrying no 
further question.^ When the Laird had pressed on with diffi- 
culty among a crowd of familiar faces, which had on all 
former occasions marked his approach with the reverence due 


’ This anecdote is a literal fact. 

51 


GU^ MANNERING 


to that of a superior being, but in which he now only read I 
hatred and contempt, and had got clear of the throng, he 
could not help turning his horse, and looking back to mark | 
the progress of their march. The group would have been | 
an excellent subject for the pencil of Calotte. The van al- | 
ready reached a small and stunted thicket, which was at the j 
bottom of the hill, and which gradually hid the line of march 
until the last stragglers disappeared. ; 

His sensations were bitter enough. The race, it is true, 
which he had thus summarily dismissed from their ancient i 
place of refuge, was idle and vicious ; but had he endeavoured 
to render them otherwise? They were not more irregular ; 
characters now than they had been while they were admitted ' 
to consider themselves as a sort of subordinate dependants ^ 
of his family; and ought the mere circumstance of his be- i 
coming a magistrate to have made at once such a change j 
in his conduct towards them? Some means of reformation j 
ought at least to have been tried before sending seven fami- 
lies at once upon the wide world, and depriving them of a 
degree of countenance which withheld them at least from 
atrocious guilt. There was also a natural yearning of heart 
on parting with so many known and familiar faces; and to 
this feeling Godfrey Bertram was peculiarly accessible, from 
the limited qualities of his mind, which sought its principal 
amusements among the petty objects around him. As he 
was about to turn his horse’s head to pursue his journey, 
Meg Merrilies, who had lagged behind the troop, unexpected- 
ly presented herself. 

She was standing upon one of those high precipitous banks 
which, as we before noticed, overhung the road, so that she 
was placed considerably higher than Ellangowan, even 
though he was on horseback; and her tall figure, relieved 
against the clear blue sky, seemed almost of supernatural 
stature. We have noticed that there was in her general 
attire, or rather in her mode of adjusting it, somewhat of a 
foreign costume, artfully adopted perhaps for the purpose of 
adding to the effect of her spells and predictions, or perhaps 
from some traditional notions respecting the dress of her 
ancestors. On this occasion she had a large piece of red 
cotton cloth rolled about her head in the form of a turban, 

52 


GUY MANNERING 


from beneath which her dark eyes flashed with uncommon 
lustre. Her long and tangled black hair fell in elf-locks from 
the folds of this singular head-gear. Her attitude was that 
of a sibyl in frenzy, and she stretched out in her right hand 
a sapling bough which seemed just pulled. 

1 11 be d — d,^ said the groom, ‘ if she has not been cutting 
the young ashes in the dukit park ! ’ The Laird made no 
answer, but continued to look at the figure which was thus 
perched above his path. 

‘ Ride your ways,’ said the gipsy, ‘ ride your ways, Laird 
of Ellangowan ; ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram ! This day 
have ye quenched seven smoking hearths; see if the fire in 
your ain parlour burn the blyther for that. Ye have riven 
the thack off seven cottar houses ; look if your ain roof-tree 
stand the faster. Ye may stable your stirks in the shealings 
at Derncleugh; see that the hare does not couch on the 
hearthstane at Ellangowan. Ride your ways, Godfrey Ber- 
tram ; what do ye glower after our folk for ? There’s thirty 
hearts there that wad hae wanted bread ere ye had wanted 
sunkets, and spent their life-blood ere ye had scratched your 
finger. Yes ; there’s thirty yonder, from the auld wife of an 
hundred to the babe that was born last week, that ye have 
turned out o’ their bits o’ bields, to sleep with the tod and 
the blackcock in the muirs ! Ride your ways, Ellangowan. 
Our bairns are hinging at our weary backs; look that your 
braw cradle at hame be the fairer spread up; not that I am 
wishing ill to little Harry, or to the babe that’s yet to be born 
— God forbid — and make them kind to the poor, and better 
folk than their father! And now, ride e’en your ways; for 
these are the last words ye’ll ever hear Meg Merrilies speak, 
and this is the last reise that I’ll ever cut in the bonny woods 
of Ellangowan.’ 

So saying, she broke the sapling she held in her hand, and 
flung it into the road. Margaret of Anjou, bestowing on her 
triumphant foes her keen-edged malediction, could not have 
turned from them with a gesture more proudly contemptu- 
ous. The Laird was clearing his voice to speak, and thrust- 
ing his hand in his pocket to find a Half-crown; the gipsy 
waited neither for his reply nor his donation, but strode down 
the hill to overtake the caravan. 

53 


GUY MANNERING 


Ellangowan rode pensively home ; and it was remarkable j 
that he did not mention this interview to any of his family, j 
The groom was not so reserved: he told the story at great i 
length to a full audience in the kitchen, and concluded by j 
swearing that * if ever the devil spoke by the mouth of a ■ 
woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merrilies that blessed j 
day.’ 


CHAPTER IX. 

Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissle, 

Her mutchkin stoup as toom’s a whistle. 

And d — n’d excisemen in a bustle, 

Seizing a stell; 

Triumphant crushin’t like a mussel, ‘ 

Or lampit shell. 

Burns. “ 

D uring the period of Mr. Bertram’s active magistracy, i 
he did not forget the affairs of the revenue. Smug- ' 
gling, for which the Isle of Man then afforded peculiar facili- | 
ties, was general, or rather universal, all along the south- , 
western coast of Scotland. Almost all the common people | 

were engaged in these practices ; the gentry connived at them, ; 
and the officers of the revenue were frequently discounte- i 
nanced in the exercise of their duty by those who should i 
have protected them. I 

There was at this period, employed as a riding-officer or 
supervisor, in that part of the country a certain Francis Ken- | 
nedy, already named in our narrative — a stout, resolute, and j 
active man, who had made seizures to a great amount, and 
was proportionally hated by those who had an interest in 
the fair trade, as they called the pursuit of these contraband , 
adventures. This person was natural son to a gentleman of j 
good family, owing to which circumstance, and to his being 
of a jolly, convivial disposition, and singing a good song, he J 
was admitted to the occasional society of the gentlemen of the 
country, and was a member of several of their clubs for prac- 
tising athletic games, at which he was particularly expert. 

At Ellangowan Kennedy was a frequent and always an 
acceptable guest. His vivacity relieved Mr. Bertram of the 
trouble of thought, and the labour which it cost him to sup- 

54 


GUY MANNERING 


port a detailed communication of ideas ; while the daring and 
dangerous exploits which he had undertaken in the discharge 
of his office formed excellent conversation. To all these 
revenue adventures did the Laird of Ellangowan seriously 
incline, and the amusement which he derived from Kennedy’s 
society formed an excellent reason for countenancing and 
assisting the narrator in the execution of his invidious and 
hazardous duty. 

Trank Kennedy,’ he said, 'was a gentleman, though on 
the wrang side of the blanket; he was connected with the 
family of Ellangowan through the house of Glengubble. The 
last Laird of Glengubble would have brought the estate into 
the Ellangowan line; but, happening to go to Harrigate, he 
there met with Miss Jean Hadaway— by the by, the Green 
Dragon at Harrigate is the best house of the twa — but for 
Frank Kennedy, he’s in one sense a gentleman born, and it’s 
a shame not to support him against these blackguard smug- 
glers.’ 

After this league had taken place between judgment and 
execution, it chanced that Captain Dirk Hatteraick had landed 
a cargo of spirits and other contraband goods upon the 
beach not far from Ellangowan, and, confiding in the indif- 
ference with which the Laird had formerly regarded similar 
infractions of the law, he was neither very anxious to conceal 
nor to expedite the transaction. The consequence was that 
Mr. Frank Kennedy, armed with a warrant from Ellan- 
gowan, and supported by some of the Laird’s people who 
knew the country, and by a party of military, poured down 
upon the kegs, bales, and bags, and after a desperate aifray, 
in which severe wounds were given and received, succeeded 
in clapping the broad arrow upon the articles, and bearing 
them off in triumph to the next custom-house. Dirk Hat- 
teraick vowed, in Dutch, German, and English, a deep and 
full revenge, both against the gauger and his abettors; and 
all who knew him thought it likely he would keep his word. 

A few days after the departure of the gipsy tribe, Mr. 
Bertram asked the lady one morning at breakfast whether 
this was not little Harry’s birthday. 

'Five years auld exactly, this blessed day,’ answered the 
lady; 'so we may look into the English gentleman’s paper.’ 

55 


GUY MANNERING 


Mr. Bertram liked to show his authority in trifles. ‘ No, 
my dear, not till to-morrow. The last time I was at quarter- 
sessions the sheriff told us that dies — that dies inceptus — in 
short, you don’t understand Latin, but it means that a term- I 
day is not begun till it’s ended.’ | 

‘That sounds like nonsense, my dear.’ j 

‘May be so, my dear; but it may be very good law for all 
that. I am sure, speaking of term-days, I wish, as Frank | 
Kennedy says, that Whitsunday would kill Martinmas and be 
hanged for the murder; for there, I have got a letter about • 
that interest of Jenny Cairns’s, and deil a tenant’s been at 
the Place yet wi’ a boddle of rent, nor will not till Candlemas. [ 
But, speaking of Frank Kennedy, I daresay he’ll be here the ■ 
day, for he was away round to Wigton to warn a king’s ship | 
that’s lying in the bay about Dirk Hatteraick’s lugger being 1 
on the coast again, and he’ll be back this day; so we’ll have 
a bottle of claret and drink little Harry’s health.’ 

‘I wish,’ replied the lady, ‘Frank Kennedy would let Dirk 
Hatteraick alane. What needs he make himself mair busy 
than other folk? Cannot he sing his sang, and take his 
drink, and draw his salary, like Collector Snail, honest man, 
that never fashes ony body? And I wonder at you, Laird, 
for meddling and making. Did we ever want to send for tea 
or brandy frae the borough-town when Dirk Hatteraick used 
to come quietly into the bay?’ 

‘Mrs. Bertram, you know nothing of these matters. Do j 
you think it becomes a magistrate to let his own house be I 
made a receptacle for smuggled goods? Frank Kennedy i 
will show you the penalties in the act, and ye ken yoursell 
they used to put their run goods into the Auld Place of j 
Ellangowan up by there.’ \ 

‘Oh dear, Mr. Bertram, and what the waur were the wa’s I 
and the vault o’ the auld castle for having a whin kegs o’ 
brandy in them at an orra time? I am sure ye were not j 
obliged to ken ony thing about it; and what the waur was 
the King that the lairds here got a soup o’ drink and the I 


ladies their drap o’ tea at a reasonable rate? — it’s a shame to 
them to pit such taxes on them! — and was na I much the 


better of these Flanders head and pinners that Dirk Hat- 
teraick sent me a’ the way from Antwerp? It will be lang 

56 


GUY MANNERING 


or the King sends me ony thing, or Frank Kennedy either. 
And then ye would quarrel with these gipsies too! I expect 
every day to hear the barnyard’s in a low.’ 

‘I tell you once more, my dear, you don’t understand these 
things — and there’s Frank Kennedy coming galloping up the 
avenue.’ 

‘Aweel aweel I Ellangowan,’ said the lady, raising her 
voice as the Laird left the room, ‘ I wish ye may understand 
them yoursell, that’s a’ ! ’ 

From this nuptial dialogue the Laird joyfully escaped to 
meet his faithful friend, Mr. Kennedy, who arrived in high 
spirits. ‘For the love of life, Ellangowan,’ he said, ‘get up 
to the castle ! you’ll see that old fox Dirk Hatteraick, and his 
Majesty’s hounds in full cry after him?’ So saying he flung 
his horse’s bridle to a boy, and ran up the ascent to the old 
castle, followed by the Laird, and indeed by several others of 
ihe family, alarmed by the sound of guns from the sea, now 
distinctly heard. 

On gaining that part of the ruins which commanded the 
most extensive outlook, they saw a lugger, with all her can- 
vas crowded, standing across the bay, closely pursued by a 
sloop of war, that kept firing upon the chase from her bows, 
which the lugger returned with her stern-chasers. ‘ They’re 
but at long blows yet,’ cried Kennedy, in great exultation, 
‘ but they will be closer by and by. D — n him, he’s starting 
his cargo! I see the good Nantz pitching overboard, keg 
after keg ! That’s a d — d ungenteel thing of Mr. Hatteraick, 
as I shall let him know by and by. Now, now! they’ve got 
the wind of him! that’s it, that’s it! Hark to him! hark to 
him! Now, my dogs! now, my dogs! Hark to Ranger, 
hark ! ’ 

‘I think,’ said the old gardener to one of the maids, ‘the 
gauger’s He,' by which word the common people express 
those violent spirits which they think a presage of death. 

Meantime the chase continued. The lugger, being piloted 
with great ability, and using every nautical shift to make her 
escape, had now reached, and was about to double, the head- 
land which formed the extreme point of land on the left side 
of the bay, when a ball having hit the yard in the slings, the 
mainsail fell upon the deck. The consequence of this acci- 

57 


GUY MANNERING 


dent appeared inevitable, but could not be seen by the specta- 
tors; for the vessel, which had just doubled the headland, 
lost steerage, and fell out of their sight behind the promon- 
tory. The sloop of war crowded all sail to pursue, but she 
had stood too close upon the cape, so that they were obliged 
to wear the vessel for fear of going ashore, and to make a 
large tack back into the bay, in order to recover sea-room 
enough to double the headland. 

‘They’ll lose her by , cargo and lugger, one or both,’ 

said Kennedy ; ‘I must gallop away to the Point of Warroch 
(this was the headland so often mentioned), and make them 
a signal where she has drifted to on the other side. Good- 
bye for an hour, Ellangowan; get out the gallon punch-bowl 
and plenty of lemons. I’ll stand for the French article by 
the time I come back, and we’ll drink the young Laird’s 
health in a bowl that would swim the collector’s yawl.’ So 
saying, he mounted his horse and galloped off. 

About a mile from the house, and upon the verge of the 
woods, which, as we have said, covered a promontory termi- 
nating in the cape called the Point of Warroch, Kennedy met 
young Harry Bertram, attended by his tutor. Dominie Samp- 
son. He had often promised the child a ride upon his gallo- 
way; and, from singing, dancing, and playing Punch for his 
amusement, was a particular favourite. He no sooner came 
scampering up the path, than the boy loudly claimed his 
promise; and Kennedy, who saw no risk in indulging him, 
and wished to tease the Dominie, in whose visage he read a 
remonstrance, caught up Harry from the ground, placed him 
before him, and continued his route; Sampson’s ‘Peradven- 

ture. Master Kennedy ’ being lost in the clatter of his 

horse’s feet. The pedagogue hesitated a moment whether 
he should go after them ; but Kennedy being a person in full 
confidence of the family, and with whom he himself had no 
delight in associating, ‘being that he was addicted unto pro- 
fane and scurrilous jests,’ he continued his own walk at his 
own pace, till he reached the Place of Ellangowan. 

The spectators from the ruined walls of the castle were 
still watching the sloop of war, which at length, but not with- 
out the loss of considerable time, recovered sea-room enough 
to weather the Point of Warroch, and was lost to their sight 

58 


GUY MANNERING 


behind that wooded promontory. Some time afterwards the 
discharges of several cannon were heard at a distance, and, 
after an interval, a still louder explosion, as of a vessel blown 
up, and a cloud of smoke rose above the trees and mingled 
with the blue sky. All then separated on their different oc- 
casions, auguring variously upon the fate of the smuggler, 
but the majority insisting that her capture was inevitable, if 
she had not already gone to the bottom. 

‘It is near our dinner-time, my dear,’ said Mrs. Bertram to 
her husband, ‘will it be lang before Mr. Kennedy comes 
back?’ 

‘I expect him every moment, my dear, said the Laird ; ‘per- 
haps he is bringing some of the officers of the sloop with him.’ 

‘My stars, Mr. Bertram ! why did not ye tell me this before, 
that we might have had the large round table? And then, 
they’re a’ tired o’ saut meat, and, to tell you the plain truth, a 
rump o’ beef is the best part of your dinner. And then I 
wad have put on another gown, and ye wadna have been the 
waur o’ a clean neckcloth yoursell. But ye delight in sur- 
prising and hurrying one. I am sure I am no to haud out 
for ever against this sort of going on ; but when folk’s missed, 
then they are moaned.’ 

‘Pshaw, pshaw! deuce take the beef, and the gown, and 
table, and the neck-cloth I we shall do all very well. Where’s 
the Dominie, John? (to a servant who was busy about the 
table) where’s the Dominie and little Harry?’ 

‘Mr. Sampson’s been at hame these twa hours ancf mair, 
but I dinna think Mr. Harry cam hame wi’ him.’ 

‘Not come hame wi’ him ?’ said the lady ; ‘desire Mr. Samp- 
son to step this way directly.’ 

‘Mr. Sampson,’ said she, upon his entrance, ‘is it not the 
most extraordinary thing in this world wide, that you, that 
have free up-putting — bed, board, and washing — and twelve 
pounds sterling a year, just to look after that boy, should let 
him out of your sight for twa or three hours ?’ 

Sampson made a bow of humble acknowledgment at each 
pause which the angry lady made in her enumeration of the 
advantages of his situation, in order to give more weight to 
her remonstrance, and then, in words which we will not do 
him the injustice to imitate, told how Mr. Francis Kennedy 

59 


GUY MANNERING 




‘had assumed spontaneously the charge of Master Harry, in 
despite of his remonstrances in the contrary.’ 

‘I am very little obliged to Mr. Francis Kennedy for his 
pains,’ said the lady, peevishly ; ‘suppose he lets the boy drop 
from his horse, and lames him? or suppose one of the can- 
nons comes ashore and kills him? or suppose ’ 

‘Or suppose, my dear,’ said Ellangowan, ‘what is much 
more likely than anything else, that they have gone aboard 
the sloop or the prize, and are to come round the Point with 
the tide?’ 

‘And then they may be drowned,’ said the lady. 

‘Verily,’ said Sampson, ‘I thought Mr. Kennedy had re- 
turned an hour since. Of a surety I deemed I heard his 
horse’s feet.’ 

‘That,’ said John, with a broad grin, ‘was Grizzel chasing 
the humble-cow out of the close.’ 

Sampson coloured up to the eyes, not at the implied taunt, 
which he would never have discovered, or resented if he had, 
but at some idea which crossed his own mind. ‘I have been 
in an error,’ he said; ‘of a surety I should have tarried for 
the babe.’ So saying, he snatched his bone-headed cane and 
hat, and hurried away towards Warroch wood faster than he 
was ever known to walk before or after. 

The Laird lingered some tirhe, debating the point with the 
lady. At length he saw the sloop of war again make her 
appearance; but, without approaching the shore, she stood 
away *to the westward with all her sails set, and was soon 
out of sight. The lady’s state of timorous and fretful appre- 
hension was so habitual that her fears went for nothing with 
her lord and master; but an appearance of disturbance and 
anxiety among the servants now excited his alarm, especially 
when he was called out of the room, and told in private that 
Mr. Kennedy’s horse had come to the stable door alone, with 
the saddle turned round below its belly and the reins of the 
bridle broken ; and that a farmer had informed them in pass- 
ing that there was a smuggling lugger burning like a furnace 
on the other side of the Point of Warroch, and that, though 
he had come through the wood, he had seen or heard nothing 
of Kennedy or the young Laird, ‘only there was Dominie 
Sampson gaun rampauging about like mad, seeking for them.* 


1 


! 


6o 


GUY MANNERING 


All was now bustle at Ellangowan. The Laird and his 
servants, male and female, hastened to the wood of Warroch. 
The tenants and cottagers in the neighbourhood lent their 
assistance, partly out of zeal, partly from curiosity. Boats 
were manned to search the sea-shore, which, on the other 
side of the Point, rose into high and indented rocks. A 
vague suspicion was entertained, though too horrible to be 
expressed, that the child might have fallen from one of these 
cliffs. 

The evening had begun to close when the parties entered 
the wood, and dispersed different ways in quest of the boy 
and his companion. The darkening of the atmosphere, and 
the hoarse sighs of the November wind through the naked 
trees, the rustling of the withered leaves which strewed the 
glades, the repeated halloos of the different parties, which 
often drew them together in expectation of meeting the ob- 
jects of their search, gave a cast of dismal sublimity to the 
scene. 

At length, after a minute and fruitless investigation 
through the wood, the searchers began to draw together into 
one body, and to compare notes. The agony of the father 
grew beyond concealment, yet it scarcely equalled the anguish 
of the tutor. ‘Would to God I had died for him !’ the affec- 
tionate creature repeated, in notes of the deepest distress. 
Those who were less interested rushed into a tumultuary dis- 
cussion of chances and possibilities. Each gave his opinion, 
and each was alternately swayed by that of the others. Some 
thought the objects of their search had gone aboard the sloop; 
some that they had gone to a village at three miles’ distance ; 
some whispered they might have been on board the lugger, a 
few planks and beams of which the tide now drifted ashore. 

At this instant a shout was heard from the beach, so loud, 
so shrill, so piercing, so different from every sound which the 
woods that day had rung to, that nobody hesitated a moment 
to believe that it conveyed tidings, and tidings of dreadful 
import. All hurried to the place, and, venturing without 
scruple upon paths which at another time they would have 
shuddered to look at, descended towards a cleft of the rock, 
where one boat’s crew was already landed. ‘Here, sirs, here ! 
this way, for God’s sake ! this way ! this way !’ was the reit- 

6i 


GUY MANNERING 


crated cry. Ellangowan broke through the throng which 
had already assembled at the fatal spot, and beheld the ob- 
ject of their terror. It was the dead body of Kennedy. At 
first sight he seemed to have perished by a fall from the 
rocks, which rose above the spot on which he lay in a per- 
pendicular precipice of a hundred feet above the beach. The 
corpse was lying half in, half out of the water ; the advancing 
tide, raising the arm and stirring the clothes, had given it at 
some distance the appearance of motion, so that those who 
first discovered the body thought that life remained. But 
every spark had been long extinguished. 

‘My bairn! my bairn!’ cried the distracted father, ‘where 
can he be?’ A dozen mouths were opened to communicate 
hopes which no one felt. Some one at length mentioned — 
the gipsies ! In a moment Ellangowan had reascended the 
cliffs, flung himself upon the first horse he met, and rode 
furiously to the huts at Derncleugh. All was there dark and 
desolate ; and, as he dismounted to make more minute search, 
he stumbled over fragments of furniture which had been 
thrown out of the cottages, and the broken wood and thatch 
which had been pulled down by his orders. At that moment 
the prophecy, or anathema, of Meg Merrilies fell heavy on 
his mind. ‘You have stripped the thatch from seven cot- 
tages ; see that the roof-tree of your own house stand the 
surer !’ 

‘Restore,’ he cried, ‘restore my bairn! bring me back my 
son, and all shall be forgot and forgiven !’ As he uttered 
these words in a sort of frenzy, his eye caught a glimmering 
of light in one of the dismantled cottages ; it was that in 
which Meg Merrilies formerly resided. The light, which 
seemed to proceed from fire, glimmered not only through the 
window, but also through the rafters of the hut where the 
roofing had been torn off. 

He flew to the place; the entrance was bolted. Despair 
gave the miserable father the strength of ten men ; he rushed 
against the door with such violence that it gave way before 
the momentum of his weight and force. The cottage was 
empty, but bore marks of recent habitation : there was fire on 
the hearth, a kettle, and some preparation for food. As he 
eagerly gazed around for something that might confirm his 

62 


GUY MANNERING 


hope that his child yet lived, although in the power of those 
strange people, a man entered the hut. 

It was his old gardener. ‘O sir!’ said the old man, 'such 
a night as this I trusted never to live to see! ye maun come 
to the Place directly !’ 

‘Is my boy found? is he alive? have ye found Harry Ber- 
tram ? Andrew, have ye found Harry Bertram ?’ 

‘No, sir; but ’ 

‘Then he is kidnapped ! I am sure of it, Andrew ! as sure as 
that I tread upon earth! She has stolen him; and I will 
never stir from this place till I have tidings of my bairn !’ 

‘O, but ye maun come hame, sir! ye maun come hame! 
We have sent for the Sheriff, and we’ll set a watch here a’ 
night, in case the gipsies return; but you — ye maun come 
hame, sir, for my lady’s in the dead-thraw.’ 

Bertram turned a stupified and unmeaning eye on the mes- 
senger who uttered this calamitous news; and, repeating the 
words ‘in the dead-thraw !’ as if he could not comprehend 
their meaning, suffered the old man to drag him towards his 
horse. During the ride home he only said, ‘Wife and bairn 
baith — mother and son baith, — sair, sair to abide !’ 

It is needless to dwell upon the new scene of agony which 
awaited him. The news of Kennedy’s fate had been eagerly 
and incautiously communicated at Ellangowan, with the 
gratuitous addition, that, doubtless, ‘he had drawn the young 
Laird over the craig with him, though the tide had swept 
away the child’s body; he was light, puir thing, and would 
flee farther into the surf.’ 

Mrs. Bertram heard the tidings; she was far advanced in 
her pregnancy; she fell into the pains of premature labour, 
and, ere Ellangowan had recovered his agitated faculties, so 
as to comprehend the full distress of his situation, he was the 
father of a female infant, and a widower. 


63 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER X. 

But see, his face is black and full of blood ; 

His eye-balls, farther out than when he lived, 

Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; 

His hair uprear’d, his nostrils stretch’d with struggling, 

His hands abroad display’d, as one that grasp’d 
And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdued. 

Henry VI. Part II. 

T he Sheriff-depiite of the county arrived at Ellangowan | 
next morning by daybreak. To this provincial magis- j 
trate the law of Scotland assigns judicial powers of consider- | 
able extent, and the task of inquiring into all crimes com- 
mitted within his jurisdiction, the apprehension and com- 
mitment of suspected persons, and so forth.^ 

The gentleman who held the office in the shire of at 

the time of this catastrophe was well born and well educated, 
and, though somewhat pedantic and professional in his habits, 
he enjoyed general respect as an active and intelligent magis- 
trate. His first employment was to examine all witnesses 
whose evidence could throw light upon this mysterious event, 
and make up the written report, proces verbal, or precogni- 
tion, as it is technically called, which the practice of Scotland 
has substituted for a coroner’s inquest. Under the Sheriff’s 
minute and skilful inquiry, many circumstances appeared i 
which seemed incompatible with the original opinion that I 
Kennedy had accidentally fallen from the cliffs. We shall 
briefly detail some of these. 

The body had been deposited in a neighbouring fisher-hut, 
but without altering the condition in which it was found. 
This was the first object of the Sheriff’s examination. Though- 
fearfully crushed and mangled by the fall from such a 
height, the corpse was found to exhibit a deep cut in the | 
head, which in the opinion of a skilful surgeon, must have | 
been inflicted by a broadsword or cutlass. The experience of | 
this gentleman discovered other suspicious indications. The 
face was much blackened, the eyes distorted, and the veins 

’^The Scottish sheriff discharges, on such occasions as that now 
mentioned, pretty much the same duty as a coroner. 

64 


GUY MANNERING 


of the neck swelled. A coloured handkerchief, which the un- 
fortunate man had worn round his neck, did not present the 
usual appearance, blit was much loosened, and the knot dis- 
placed and dragged extremely tight ; the folds were also com- 
pressed, as if it had been used as a means of grappling the 
deceased, and dragging him perhaps to the precipice. 

On the other hand, poor Kennedy’s purse was found un- 
touched ; and, what seemed yet more extraordinary, the pis- 
tols which he usually carried when about to encounter any 
hazardous adventure were found in his pockets loaded. This 
appeared particularly strange, for he was known and dreaded 
by the contraband traders as a man equally fearless and dex- 
terous in the use of his weapons, of which he had given many 
signal proofs. The Sheriff inquired whether Kennedy was 
not in the practice of carrying any other arms ? Most of Mr. 
Bertram’s servants recollected that he generally had a couteau 
de chasse, or short hanger, but none such was found upon 
the dead body; nor could those who had seen him on the 
morning of the fatal day take it upon them to assert whether 
he then carried that weapon or not. 

The corpse afforded no other indicia respecting the fate of 
Kennedy; for, though the clothes were much displaced and 
the limbs dreadfully fractured, the one seemed the probable, 
the other the certain, consequences of such a fall. The hands 
of the deceased were clenched fast, and full of turf and 
earth ; but this also seemed equivocal. 

The magistrate then proceeded to the place where the 
corpse was first discovered, and made those who had found it 
give, upon the spot, a particular and detailed account of the 
manner in which it was lying. A large fragment of the rock 
appeared to have accompanied, or followed, the fall of the 
victim from the cliff above. It was of so solid and compact 
a substance that it had fallen without any great diminution 
by splintering; so that the Sheriff was enabled, first, to esti- 
mate the weight by measurement, and then to calculate, from 
the appearance of the fragment, what portion of it had been 
bedded into the cliff from which it had descended. This was 
easily detected by the raw appearance of the stone where it 
had not been exposed to the atmosphere. They then ascend- 
ed the cliff, and surveyed the place from whence the stony 
5 65 


GUY MANNERING 


fragment had fallen. It seemed plain, from the appearance 
of the bed, that the mere weight of one man standing upon 
the projecting part of the fragment, supposing it in its orig- 
inal situation, could not have destroyed its balance and pre- 
cipitated it, with himself, from the cliff. At the same time, 
it appeared to have lain so loose that the use of a lever, or 
the combined strength of three or four men, might easily 
have hurled it from its position. The short turf about the 
brink of the precipice was much trampled, as if stamped by 
the heels of men in a mortal struggle, or in the act of some 
violent exertion. Traces of the same kind, less visibly 
marked, guided the sagacious investigator to the verge of the 
copsewood, which in that place crept high up the bank 
towards the top of the precipice. 

With patience and perseverance they traced these marks 
into the thickest part of the copse, a route which no person 
would have voluntarily adopted, unless for the purpose of 
concealment. Here they found plain vestiges of violence and 
struggling, from space to space. Small boughs were torn 
down, as if grasped by some resisting wretch who was 
dragged forcibly along; the ground, where in the least de- 
gree soft or marshy, showed the print of many feet; there 
were vestiges also which might be those of human blood. 
At any rate it was certain that several persons must have 
forced their passage among the oaks, hazels, and underwood 
with which they were mingled; and in some places appeared 
traces as if a sack full of grain, a dead body, or something 
of that heavy and solid description, had been dragged along 
the ground. In one part of the thicket there was a small 
swamp, the clay of which was whitish, being probably mixed 
with marl. The back of Kennedy’s coat appeared besmeared 
with stains of the same colour. 

At length, about a quarter of a mile from the brink of the 
fatal precipice, the traces conducted them to a small open 
space of ground, very much trampled, and plainly stained 
with blood, although withered leaves had been strewed upon 
the spot, and other means hastily taken to efface the marks, 
which seemed obviously to have been derived from a desper- 
ate affray. On one side of this patch of open ground was 
found the sufferer’s naked hanger, which seemed to have 

66 


GUY MANNERING 


I 
I 

been thrown into the thicket; on the other, the belt and 
sheath, which appeared to have been hidden with more lei- 
surely care and precaution. 

The magistrate caused the footprints which marked this 
spot to be carefully measured and examined. Some corre- 
sponded to the foot of the unhappy victim ; some were larger, 
some less ; indicating that at least four or five men had been 
busy around him. Above all, here, and here only, were ob- 
served the vestiges of a child’s foot ; and as it could be seen 
nowhere else, and the hard horse-track which traversed the 
wood of Warroch was contiguous to the spot, it was natural 
to think that the boy might have escaped in that direction 
during the confusion. But, as he was never heard of, the 
Sheriff, who made a careful entry of all these memoranda, 
did not suppress his opinion, that the deceased had met with 
foul play, and that the murderers, whoever they were, had 
possessed themselves of the person of the child Harry 
Bertram. 

Every exertion was now made to discover the criminals. 
Suspicion hesitated between the smugglers and the gipsies. 
The fate of Dirk Hatteraick’s vessel was certain. Two men 
from the opposite side of Warroch Bay (so the inlet on the 
southern side of the Point of Warroch is called) had seen, 
though at a great distance, the lugger drive eastward, after 
doubling the headland, and, as they judged from her ma- 
noeuvres, in a disabled state. Shortly after, they perceived 
that she grounded, smoked, and finally took fire. She was, 
as one of them expressed himself, ‘in a light low’ (bright 
flame) when they observed a king’s ship, with her colours 
up, heave in sight from behind the cape. The guns of the 
burning vessel discharged themselves as the fire reached 
them; and they saw her at length blow up with a great ex- 
plosion. The sloop of war kept aloof for her own safety; 
and, after hovering till the other exploded, stood away south- 
ward under a press of sail. The Sheriff anxiously inter- 
rogated these men whether any boats had left the vessel. 
They could not say, they had seen none ; but they might have 
put off in such a direction as placed the burning vessel, and 
the thick smoke which floated landward from it, between 
their course and the witnesses’ observation. 

67 


GUY MANNERING 


That the ship destroyed was Dirk Hatteraick^s no one 
doubted. His lugger was well known on the coast, and had 
been expected just at this time. A letter from the command- 
er of the king’s sloop, to whom the Sheriff made application, 
put the matter beyond doubt; he sent also an extract from 
his log-book of the transactions of the day, which intimated 
their being on the outlook for a smuggling lugger, Dirk Hat- 
teraick master, upon the information and requisition of Fran- 1 
cis Kennedy, of his Majesty’s excise service; and that Ken- | 
nedy was to be upon the outlook on the shore, in case j 
Hatteraick, who was known to be a desperate fellow, and had * 
been repeatedly outlawed, should attempt to run his sloop | 
aground. About nine o’clock a.m. they discovered a sail i 
which answered the description of Hatteraick’s vessel, chased 
her, and, after repeated signals to her to show colours and 
bring-to, fired upon her. The chase then showed Hamburgh 
colours and returned the fire; and a running fight was main- 
tained for three hours, when, jusf as the lugger was doubling . 
the Point of Warroch, they observed that the main-yard was 
shot in the slings, and that the vessel was disabled. It was 
not in the power of the man-of-war’s men for some time to 
profit by this circumstance, owing to their having kept too 
much in shore for doubling the headland. After two tacks, 
they accomplished this, and observed the chase on fire and 
apparently deserted. The fire having reached sorne casks of 
spirits, which were placed on the deck, with other combus- i 
tibles, probably on purpose, burnt with such fury that no | 
boats durst approach the vessel, especially as her shotted guns 
were discharging one after another by the heat. The cap- I 
tain had no doubt whatever that the crew had set the vessel j 
on fire and escaped in their boats. After watching the con- 
flagration till the ship blew up, his Majesty’s sloop, the 
‘Shark,’ stood towards the Isle of Man, with the purpose of 
intercepting the retreat of the smugglers, who, though they 
might conceal themselves in the woods for a day or two, 
would probably take the first opportunity of endeavouring 
to make for this asylum. But they never saw more of them 
than is above narrated. 

Such was the account given by William Pritchard, master 
and commander of his Majesty’s sloop of war, ‘Shark ’ who 

68 


GUY MANNERING 


concluded by regretting deeply that he had not had the hap- 
piness to fall in with the scoundrels who had had the impu- 
dence to fire on his Majesty’s flag, and with an assurance 
that, should he meet Mr. Dirk Hatteraick in any future 
cruise, he would not fail to bring him into port under his 
stern, to answer whatever might be alleged against him. 

As, therefore, it seemed tolerably certain that the men on 
board the lugger had escaped, the death of Kennedy, if he 
fell in with them in the woods, when irritated by the loss of 
their vessel and by the share he had in it, was easily to be ac- 
counted for. And it was not improbable that to such brutal 
tempers, rendered desperate by their circumstances, even the 
murder of the child, against whose father, as having become 
suddenly active in the prosecution of smugglers, Hatteraick 
was known to have uttered deep threats, would not appear 
a very heinous crime. 

Against this hypothesis it was urged that a crew of fifteen 
or twenty men could not have lain hidden upon the coast, 
when so close a search took place immediately after the de- 
struction of their vessel; or, at least, that if they had hid 
themselves in the woods, their boats must have been seen on 
the beach; that in such precarious circumstances, and when 
all retreat must have seemed difficult if not impossible, it was 
not to be thought that they would have all united to commit 
a useless murder for the mere sake of revenge. Those who 
held this opinion supposed either that the boats of the lugger 
had stood out to sea without being observed by those who 
were intent upon gazing at the burning vessel, and so gained 
safe distance before the sloop got round the headland ; or else 
that, the boats being staved or destroyed by the fire of the 
‘Shark’ during the chase, the crew had obstinately deter- 
mined to perish with the vessel. What gave some counte- 
nance to this supposed act of desperation was, that neither 
Dirk Hatteraick nor any of his sailors, all well-known men in 
the fair trade, were again seen upon that coast, or heard of in 
the Isle of Man, where strict inquiry was made. On the 
other hand, only one dead body, apparently that of a seaman 
killed by a cannon-shot, drifted ashore. So all that could be 
done was to register the names, description, and appearance 
of the individuals belonging to the ship’s company, and offer 

69 


GUY MANNERING 


a reward for the apprehension of them, or any one of them, 
extending also to any person, not the actual murderer, who 
should give evidence tending to convict those who had mur- 
dered Francis Kennedy. 

Another opinion, which was also plausibly supported, went 
to charge this horrid crime upon the late tenants of Dem- 
cleugh. They were known to have resented highly the con- 
duct of the Laird of Ellangowan towards them, and to have 
used threatening expressions, which every one supposed them 
capable of carrying into effect. The kidnapping the child 
was a crime much more consistent with their habits than with 
those of smugglers, and his temporary guardian might have 
fallen in an attempt to protect him. Besides, it was remem- 
bered that Kennedy had been an active agent, two or three 
days before, in the forcible expulsion of these people from 
Derncleugh, and that harsh and menacing language had been 
exchanged between him and some of the Egyptian patriarchs 
on that memorable occasion. 

The Sheriff received also the depositions of the unfortu- 
nate father and his servant, concerning what had passed at 
their meeting the caravan of gipsies as they left the estate of 
Ellangowan. The speech of Meg Merrilies seemed particu- 
larly suspicious. There was, as the magistrate observed in 
his law language, damnum minatum — a damage, or evil turn, 
threatened — and malum secutum — an evil of the very kind 
predicted shortly afterwards following. A young woman, 
who had been gathering nuts in Warroch wood upon the 
fatal day, was also strongly of opinion, though she declined 
to make positive oath, that she had seen Meg Merrilies — at 
least a woman of her remarkable size and appearance — start 
suddenly out of a thicket; she said she had called to her by 
name, but, as the figure turned from her and made no an- 
swer, she was uncertain if it were the gipsy or her wraith, 
and was afraid to go nearer to one who was always reckoned, 
in the vulgar phrase, 'no canny.’ This vague story received 
some corroboration from the circumstance of a fire being 
that evening found in the gipsy’s deserted cottage. To this 
fact Ellangowan and his gardener bore evidence. Yet it 
seemed extravagant to suppose that, had this woman been 
accessory to such a dreadful crime, she would have returned, 

70 


GUY MANNERING 


that very evening on which it was committed, to the place of 
all others where she was most likely to be sought after. 

Meg Merrilies was, however, apprehended and examined. 
She denied strongly having been either at Derncleugh or in 
the wood of Warroch upon the day of Kennedy’s death ; and 
several of her tribe made oath in her behalf, that she had 
never quitted their encampment, which was in a glen about 
ten miles distant from Ellangowan. Their oaths were indeed 
little to be trusted to; but what other evidence could be had 
in the circumstances? There was one remarkable fact, and 
only one, which arose from her examination. Her arm ap- 
peared to be slightly wounded by the cut of a sharp weapon, 
and was tied up with a , handkerchief of Harry Bertram’s. 
But the chief of the horde acknowledged he had ‘corrected 
her’ that day with his whinger; she herself, and others, gave 
the same account of her hurt; and for the handkerchief, the 
quantity of linen stolen from Ellangowan during the last 
months of their residence on the estate easily accounted for 
it, without charging Meg with a more heinous crime. 

It was observed upon her examination that she treated the 
questions respecting the death of Kennedy, or ‘the gauger,’ 
as she called him, with indifference; but expressed great and 
emphatic scorn and indignation at being supposed capable of 
injuring little Harry Bertram. She was long confined in 
jail, under the hope that something might yet be discovered 
to throw light upon this dark and bloody transaction. Noth- 
ing, however, occurred ; and Meg was at length liberated, but 
under sentence of banishment from the county as a vagrant, 
common thief, and disorderly person. No traces of the boy 
could ever be discovered ; and at length the story, after mak- 
ing much noise, was gradually given up as altogether inex- 
plicable, and only perpetuated by the name of ‘The Gauger’s 
Loup,’ which was generally bestowed on the cliff from which 
the unfortunate man had fallen or been precipitated. 


n 


GUY MANNERING 




CHAPTER XI. 

Enter Time^ as Chorus. 

I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror 
Of good and bad; that make and unfold error. 

Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 

To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide 
O’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
Of that wide gap. 

Winter's Tale. 

O UR narration is now about to make a large stride, and 
omit a space of nearly seventeen years ; during which 
nothing occurred of any particular consequence with respect 
to the story we have undertaken to tell. The gap is a wide 
one ; yet if the reader’s experience in life enables him to look 
back on so many years, the space will scarce appear longer in 
his recollection than the time consumed in turning these 
pages. 

It was, then, in the month of November, about seventeen 
years after the catastrophe related in the last chapter, that, 
during a cold and stormy night, a social group had closed 
around the kitchen-fire of the Gordon Arms at Kippletringan, 
a small but comfortable inn kept by Mrs. Mac-Candlish in 
that village. The conversation which passed among them 
will save me the trouble of telling the few events occurring 
during this chasm in our history, with which it is necessary 
that the reader should be acquainted. 

Mrs. Mac-Candlish, throned in a comfortable easy-chair 
lined with black leather, was regaling herself and a neigh- 
bouring gossip or two with a cup of genuine tea, and at the 
same time keeping a sharp eye upon her domestics, as they 
went and came in prosecution of their various duties and 
commissions. The clerk and precentor of the parish enjoyed 
at a little distance his Saturday night’s pipe, and aided its 
bland fumigation by an occasional sip of brandy and water. 
Deacon Bearcliff, a man of great importance in the village, 
combined the indulgence of both parties : he had his pipe and 
his tea-cup, the latter being laced with a little spirits. One 
or two clowns sat at some distance, drinking their twopenny 
ale. 


72 


GUY MANNERING 


*Are ye sure the parlour’s ready for them, and the fire 
burning clear, and the chimney no smoking ?’ said the hostess 
to a chambermaid. 

She was answered in the affirmative. ‘Ane wadna be un- 
civil to them, especially in their distress,’ said she, turning 
to the Deacon. 

‘Assuredly not, Mrs. Mac-Candlish ; assuredly not. I am 
sure ony sma’ thing they might want frae my shop, under 
seven, or eight, or ten pounds, I would book them as readily 
for it as the first in the country. Do they come in the auld 
chaise ?’ 

‘I daresay no,’ said the precentor ; ‘for Miss Bertram comes 
on the white powny ilka day to the kirk — and a constant kirk- 
keeper she is — and it’s a pleasure to hear her singing the 
psalms, winsome young thing.’ 

‘Ay, and the young Laird of Hazlewood rides hame half 
the road wi’ her after sermon,’ said one of the gossips in 
company. ‘I wonder how auld Hazlewood likes that.’ 

‘I kenna how he may like it now,’ answered another of 
the tea-drinkers; ‘but the day has been when Ellangowan 
wad hae liked as little to see his daughter taking up with 
their son.’ 

‘Ay, has been,’ answered the first, with somewhat of 
emphasis. 

‘I am sure, neighbour Ovens,’ said the hostess, ‘the Hazle- 
woods of Hazlewood, though they are a very gude auld fam- 
ily in the county, never thought, till within these twa score 
o’ years, of evening themselves till the Ellangowans. Wow, 
woman, the Bertrams of Ellangowan are the auld Ding- 
awaies lang syne. There is a sang about ane o’ them marry- 
ing a daughter of the King of Man ; it begins — 

Blythe Bertram’s ta’en him ower the faem. 

To wed a wife, and bring her hame 

I daur say Mr. Skreigh can sing us the ballant.’ 

‘Gudewife,’ said Skreigh, gathering up his mouth, and sip- 
ping his tiff of brandy punch with great solemnity, our tal- 
ents were gien us to other use than to sing daft auld sangs 
sae near the Sabbath day.’ 

‘Hout fie, Mr. Skreigh; I’se warrant I hae heard you sing 

73 


GUY MANNERING 


a blythe sang on Saturday at e’en before now. But as for 
the chaise, Deacon, it hasna been out of the coach-house since 
Mrs. Bertram died, that’s sixteen or seventeen years sin syne. 
Jock Jabos is away wi’ a chaise of mine for them ; I wonder 
he’s no come back. It’s pit mirk; but there’s no an ill turn 
on the road but twa, and the brigg ower Warroch burn is 
safe eneugh, if he baud to the right side. But then there’s 
Heavieside Brae, that’s just a murder for post-cattle; but 
Jock kens the road brawly.’ 

A loud rapping was heard at the door. 

‘That’s no them. I dinna hear the wheels. Grizzel, ye 
limmer, gang to the door.’ 

‘It’s a single gentleman,’ whined out Grizzel; ‘maun I take 
him into the parlour ?’ 

‘Foul be in your feet, then; it’ll be some English rider. 
Coming without a servant at this time o’ night ! Has the 
hostler ta’en the horse? Ye may light a spunk o’ fire in the 
red room.’ 

‘I wish, ma’am,’ said the traveller, entering the kitchen, 
‘you would give me leave to warm myself here, for the night 
is very cold.’ 

His appearance, voice, and manner produced an instanta- 
neous effect in his favour. He was a handsome, tall, thin 
figure, dressed in black, as appeared when he laid aside his 
riding-coat ; his age might be between forty and fifty ; his cast 
of features grave and interesting, and his air somewhat mili- 
tary. Every point of his appearance and address bespoke 
the gentleman. Long habit had given Mrs. Mac-Candlish 
an acute tact in ascertaining the quality of her visitors, and 
proportioning her reception accordingly : — 

To every guest the appropriate speech was made, 

And every duty with distinction paid ; 

Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite — 

‘Your honour’s servant!’ ‘Mister Smith, good-night.’ 

On the present occasion she was low in her courtesy and 
profuse in her apologies. The stranger begged his horse 
might be attended to : she went out herself to school the 
hostler. 

‘There was never a prettier bit o’ horse-flesh in the stable 
o’ the Gordon Arms,’ said the man, which information in- 

74 


GUY MANNERING 


creased the landlady’s respect for the rider. Finding, on her 
return, that the stranger declined to go into another apart- 
ment (which, indeed, she allowed, would be but cold and 
smoky till the fire bleezed up), she installed her guest hos- 
pitably by the fireside, and offered what refreshment her 
house afforded. 

*A cup of your tea, ma’am, if you will favour me.’ 

Mrs. Mac-Candlish bustled about, reinforced her teapot 
with hyson, and proceeded in her duties with her best grace. 
‘We have a very nice parlour, sir, and everything very agree- 
able for gentlefolks; but it’s bespoke the night for a gentle- 
man and his daughter that are going to leave this part of the 
country ; ane of my chaises is gane for them, and will be back 
forthwith. They’re no sae weel in the warld as they have 
been; but we’re a’ subject to ups and downs in this life, as 
your honour must needs ken, — but is not the tobacco-reek 
disagreeable to your honour?’ 

‘By no means, ma’am; I am an old campaigner, and per- 
fectly used to it. Will you permit me to make some inquiries 
about a family in this neighbourhood ?’ 

The sound of wheels was now heard, and the landlady hur- 
ried to the door to receive her expected guests ; but returned 
in an instant, followed by the postilion. ‘No, they canna 
come at no rate, the Laird’s sae ill.’ 

‘But God help them,’ said the landlady, ‘the morn’s the 
term, the very last day they can bide in the house ; a’ thing’s 
to be roupit.’ 

‘Weel, but they can come at no rate, I tell ye; Mr. Bertram 
canna be moved.’ 

‘What Mr. Bertram?’ said the stranger; ‘not Mr. Bertram 
of Ellangowan, I hope ?’ 

‘Just e’en that same, sir; and if ye be a friend o’ his, ye 
have come at a time when he’s sair bested.’ 

‘I have been abroad for many years, — is his health so 
much deranged?’ 

‘Ay, and his affairs an’ a’,’ said the Deacon ; ‘the creditors 
have entered into possession o’ the estate, and it’s for sale; 
and some that made the maist by him — I name nae names, 
but Mrs. Mac-Candlish kens wha I mean (the landlady shook 
her head significantly) — they’re sairest on him e’en now. I 

75 


GUY MANNERING 


have a sma’ matter due mysell, but I would rather have lost 
it than gane to turn the auld man out of his house, and him 
just dying/ 

‘Ay, but,’ said the parish clerk, ‘Factor Glossin wants to 
get rid of the auld Laird, and drive on the sale, for fear the 
heir-male should cast up upon them; for I have heard say, if 
there was an heir-male they couldna sell the estate for auld 
Ellangowan’s debt.’ 

‘He had a son born a good many years ago,’ said the stran- 
ger; ‘he is dead, I suppose?’ 

‘Nae man can say for that,’ answered the clerk myste- 
riously. 

‘Dead !’ said the Deacon, ‘I’se warrant him dead lang syne ; 
he hasna been heard o’ these twenty years or thereby.’ 

‘I wot weel it’s no twenty years,’ said the landlady ; ‘it’s no 
abune seventeen at the outside, in this very month. It made 
an unco noise ower a’ this country; the bairn disappeared the 
very day that Supervisor Kennedy cam by his end. If ye 
kenn’d this country lang syne, your honour wad maybe ken 
Frank Kennedy the Supervisor. He was a heartsome pleas- 
ant man, and company for the best gentlemen in the county, 
and muckle mirth he’s made in this house. I was young 
then, sir, and newly married to Bailie Mac-Candlish, that’s 
dead and gone (a sigh) ; and muckle fun I’ve had wi’ the 
Supervisor. He was a daft dog. O, an he could hae hauden 
aff the smugglers a bit! but he was aye venturesome. And 
so ye see, sir, there was a king’s sloop down in Wigton Bay, 
and Frank Kennedy, he behoved to have her up to chase Dirk 
Hatteraick’s lugger — ye’ll mind Dirk Hatteraick, Deacon? 
I daresay ye may have dealt wi’ him — (the Deacon gave a 
sort of acquiescent nod and humph). He was a daring 
chi eld, and he fought his ship till she blew up like peelings 
of ingans; and Frank Kennedy, he had been the first man to 
board, and he was flung like a quarter of a mile off, and fell 
into the water below the rock at Warroch Point, that they ca’ 
the Gauger’s Loup to this day.’ 

‘And Mr. Bertram’s child,’ said the stranger, ‘what is all 
this to him ?’ 

‘Ou, sir, the bairn aye held an unco wark wi’ the Super- 
visor; and it was generally thought he went on board the 

76 


GUY MANNERING 


vessel alang wi’ him, as bairns are aye forward to be in 
mischief.’ 

‘No, no,’ said the Deacon, ‘ye’re clean out there, Luckie; 
for the young Laird was stown away by a randy gipsy 
woman they ca’d Meg Merrilies — I mind her looks weel — in 
revenge for Ellangowan having gar’d her be drumm’d 
through Kippletringan for stealing a silver spoon.’ 

‘If ye’ll forgie me, Deacon,’ said the precentor, ‘you’re e’en 
as far wrang as the gudewife.’ 

‘And what is your edition of the story, sir ?’ said the stran- 
ger, turning to him with interest. 

‘That’s maybe no sae canny to tell,’ said the precentor, with 
solemnity. 

Upon being urged, however, to speak out, he preluded 
with two or three large puffs of tobacco-smoke, and out of 
the cloudy sanctuary which these whiffs formed around him 
delivered the following legend, having cleared his voice with 
one or two hems, and imitating, as near as he could, the elo- 
quence which weekly thundered over his head from the 
pulpit. 

‘What we are now to deliver, my brethren, — hem — hem, — 
I mean, my good friends, — was not done in a corner, and 
may serve as an answer to witch-advocates, atheists, and mis- 
believers of all kinds. Ye must know that the worshipful 
Laird of Ellangowan was not so preceese as he might have 
been in clearing his land of witches (concerning whom it is 
said, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”), nor of those 
who had familiar spirits, and consulted with divination, and 
sorcery, and lots, which is the fashion with the Egyptians, 
as they ca’ themsells, and other unhappy bodies, in this our 
country. And the Laird was three years married without 
having a family ; and he was sae left to himself, that it was 
thought he held ower muckle troking arid communing wi’ 
that Meg Merrilies, wha was the maist notorious witch in a’ 
Galloway and Dumfries-shire baith.’ 

‘Aweel, I wot there’s something in that,’ said Mrs. Mac- 
Candlish; ‘I’ve kenn’d him order her twa glasses o’ brandy 
in this very house.’ 

‘Aweel, gudewife, then the less I lee. Sae the lady was 
wi’ bairn at last, and in the night when she should have been 

77 


GUY MANNERING 


delivered there comes to the door of the ha' house — the Place 
of Ellangowan as they ca’d — an ancient man, strangely hab- 
ited, and asked for quarters. His head, and his legs, and his 
arms were bare, although it was winter time o’ the year, and 
he had a grey beard three-quarters lang. Weel, he was ad- 
mitted; and when the lady was delivered, he craved to know 
the very moment of the hour of the birth, and he went out 
and consulted the stars. And when he came back he telhd 
the Laird that the Evil One wad have power over the knave- 
bairn that was that night born, and he charged him that the 
babe should be bred up in the ways of piety, and that he 
should aye hae a godly minister at his elbow to pray wi' the 
bairn and for him. And the aged man vanished away, and 
no man of this country ever saw mair o’ him.’ 

‘Now, that will not pass,’ said the postilion, who, at a re- 
spectful distance, was listening to the conversation, ^begging 
Mr. Skreigh’s and the company’s pardon; there was no sae 
mony hairs on the warlock’s face as there’s on Letter-Gae’s^ 
ain at this moment; and he had as gude a pair o’ boots as a 
man need streik on his legs, and gloves too; and I should 
understand boots by this time, I think.’ 

‘Whisht, Jock,’ said the landlady. 

‘Ay? and what do ye ken o’ the matter, friend Jabos?’ said 
the precentor, contemptuously. 

‘No muckle, to be sure, Mr. Skreigh, only that I lived 
within a penny-stane cast o’ the head o’ the avenue at Ellan- 
gowan, when a man cam jingling to our door that night the 
young Laird was born, and my mother sent me, that was a 
hafflin callant, to show the stranger the gate to the Place, 
which, if he had been sic a warlock, he might hae kenn’d 
himsell, ane wad think; and he was a young, weel-faured, 
weel-dressed lad, like an Englishman. And I tell ye he had 
as gude a hat, and boots, and gloves, as ony gentleman need 
to have. To be sure he did gie an awesome glance up at the 
auld castle, and there was some spae-wark gaed on, I aye 
heard that ; but as for his vanishing, I held the stirrup mysell 
when he gaed away, and he gied me a round half-crown. He 
was riding on a haick they ca’d Souple Sam ; it belanged to 

' The precentor is called by Allan Ramsay, 

The letter-gae of haly rhyme. 

78 


GUY MANNERING 


the Geotge at Dumfries ; it was a blood-bay beast, very ill o’ 
the spavin ; I hae seen the beast baith before and since.’ 1 

‘Aweel, aweel, Jock,’ answered Mr. Skreigh, with a tone of 
mild solemnity, ‘our accounts differ in no material particu- 
lars; but I had no knowledge that ye had seen the man. So 
ye see, my friends, that this soothsayer having prognosticated 
evil to the boy, his father engaged a godly minister to be 
with him morn and night.’ 

‘Ay, that was him they ca’d Dominie Sampson,’ said the 
postilion. 

‘He’s but a dumb dog that,’ observed the Deacon ; ‘I have 
heard that he never could preach five words of a sermon end- 
lang, for as lang as he has been licensed.’ 

‘Weel, but,’ said the precentor, waving his hand, as if eager 
to retrieve the command of the discourse, ‘he waited on the 
young Laird by night and day. Now it chanced, when the 
bairn was near five years auld, that the Laird had a sight of 
his errors, and determined to put these Egyptians aff his 
ground, and he caused them to remove ; and that Frank Ken- 
nedy, that was a rough, swearing fellow, he was sent to turn 
them off. And he cursed and damned at them, and they 
swure at him; and that Meg Merrilies, that was the maist 
powerfu’ with the Enemy of Mankind, she as gude as said 
she would have him, body and soul, before three days were 
ower his head. And I have it from a sure hand, and that’s 
ane wha saw it, and that’s John Wilson, that was the Laird’s 
groom, that Meg appeared to the Laird as he was riding 
hame from Singleside, over Gibbie’s know, and threatened 
him wi’ what she w^ad do to his family; but whether it was 
Meg, or something waur in her likeness, for it seemed bigger 
than ony mortal creature, John could not say.’ 

‘Aweel,’ said the postilion, ‘it might be sae, I canna say 
against it, for I was not in the country at the time; but John 
Wilson was a blustering kind of chield, without the heart of 
a sprug.’ 

‘And what was the end of all this?’ said the stranger, with 
some impatience. 

‘Ou, the event and upshot of it was, sir,’ said the precentor, 
‘that while they were all looking on, beholding a king’s ship 
chase a smuggler, this Kennedy suddenly brake away frae 

79 


GUY MANNERING 


them without ony reason that could be descried — ropes nor 
tows wad not hae held him — and made for the wood of War- 
roch as fast as his beast could carry him ; and by the way he 
met the young Laird and his governor, and he snatched up 
the bairn, and swure, if he was bewitched, the bairn should 
have the same luck as him ; and the minister followed as fast 
as he could, and almaist as fast as them, for he was wonder- 
fully swift of foot, and he saw Meg the witch, or her master 
in her similitude, rise suddenly out of the ground, and 
claught the bairn suddenly out of the gauger’s arms; and 
then he rampauged and drew his sword, for ye ken a fie man 
and a cusser fearsna the deil/ 

‘I believe that’s very true,’ said the postilion. 

‘So, sir, she grippit him, and clodded him like a stane from 
the sling ower the craigs of Warroch Head, where he was 
found that evening; but what became of the babe, frankly I 
cannot say. But he that was minister here then, that’s now 
in a better place, had an opinion that thejiairn was only con- 
veyed to fairy-land for a season.’ 

The stranger had smiled slightly at some parts of this re- 
cital, but ere he could answer the clatter of a horse’s hoofs 
was heard, and a smart servant, handsomely dressed, with a 
cockade in his hat, bustled into the kitchen, with ‘Make a 
little room, good people’; when, observing the stranger, he 
descended at once into the modest and civil domestic, his hat 
sunk down by his side, and he put a letter into his master’s 
hands. ‘The family at Ellangowan, sir, are in great distress, 
and unable to receive any visits.’ 

‘I know it,’ replied his master. ‘And now, madam, if you 
will have the goodness to allow me to occupy the parlour you 
mentioned, as you are disappointed of your guests ’ 

‘Certainly, sir,’ said Mrs. Mac-Candlish, and hastened to 
light the way with all the imperative bustle which an active 
landlady loves to display on such occasions. 

‘Young man,’ said the Deacon to the servant, filling a glass, 
‘ye’ll no be the waur o’ this, after your ride.’ 

‘Not a feather, sir; thank ye, your very good health, sir.’ 

‘And wha may your master be, friend ?’ 

‘What, the gentleman that was here? that’s the famous 
Colonel Mannering, sir, from the East Indies.’ 

8o 


GUY MANNERING 


^What, him we read of in the newspapers?^ 

‘Ay, ay, just the same. It was he relieved Cuddieburn, 
and defended Chingalore, and defeated the great Mahratta 
chief. Ram Jolli Bundleman. I was with him in most of his 
campaigns.' 

‘Lord safe us,’ said the landlady; ‘I must go and see what 
he would have for supper ; that I should set him down here !’ 
f ‘O, he likes that all the better, mother. You never saw a 
plainer creature in your life than our old Colonel ; and yet he 
I has a spice of the devil in him too.’ 

I The rest of the evening’s conversation below stairs tend- 
I ing little to edification, we shall, with the reader’s leave, step 
up to the parlour. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Reputation ! that’s man idol 

Set up against God, the Maker of all laws, 

Who hath commanded us we should not kill. 

And yet we say we must, for Reputation ! 

What honest man can either fear his own. 

Or else will hurt another’s reputation? 

Fear to do base unworthy things is valour; 

If they be done to us, to suffer them 
Is valour too. 

Ben Jonson. 

T he Colonel was walking pensively up and down the 
parlour when the officious landlady re-entered to take 
his commands. Having given them in the manner he 
thought would be most acceptable ‘for the good of the house,’ 
he begged to detain her a moment. 

‘I think,’ he said, ‘madam, if I understood the good people 
right, Mr. Bertram lost his son in his fifth year?’ 

‘O ay, sir, there’s nae doubt o’ that, though there are mony 
idle clashes about the way and manner, for it’s an auld story 
now, and everybody tells it, as we were doing, their ain way 
by the ingleside. But lost the bairn was in his fifth year, as 
your honour says. Colonel; and the news being rashly tell’d 
to the leddy, then great with child, cost her her life that 
samyn night ; and the Laird never throve after that day, but 
« 8i 


GUY MANNERING 


was just careless of everything, though, when his daughter 
Miss Lucy grew up, she tried to keep order within doors ; vV 
but what could she do, poor thing ? So now they’re out of | 
house and hauld.’ 

‘Can you recollect, madam, about what time of the year the | 
child was lost ?’ The landlady, after a pause and some recol- 
lection, answered, ‘she was positive it was about this season’ ; 
and added some local recollections that fixed the date in her J 
memory as occurring about the beginning of November 17 — . ; 

The stranger took two or three turns round the room in 
silence, but signed to Mrs. Mac-Candlish not to leave it. ' 

‘Did I rightly apprehend,’ he said, ‘that the estate of Elian- . 
go wan is in the market ?’ I 

‘In the market? It will be sell’d the morn to the highest 
bidder — that’s no the morn, Lord help me ! which is the Sab- 
bath, but on Monday, the first free day; and the furniture 
and stocking is to be roupit at the same time on the ground. 
It’s the opinion of the haill country that the sale has been 
shamefully forced on at this time, when there’s sae little 
money stirring in Scotland wi’ this weary American war, that 
somebody may get the land a bargain. Deil be in them, that 
I should say sae !’ — the good lady’s wrath rising at the sup- , 
posed injustice. ; 

‘And where will the sale take place ?’ 

‘On the premises, as the advertisement says ; that’s at the 
house of Ellangowan, your honour, as I understand it.’ 

‘And who exhibits the title-deeds, rent-roll, and plan?’ 

‘A very decent man, sir; the sheriff-substitute of the 
county, who has authority from the Court of Session. He’s 
in the town just now, if your honour would like to see him; 
and he can tell you mair about the loss of the bairn than ony 
body, for the sheriff-depute (that’s his principal, like) took 
much pains to come at the truth o’ that matter, as I have 
heard.’ 

‘And this gentleman’s name is ’ 

‘Mac-Morlan, sir; he’s a man o’ character, and weel 1 
spoken 0’.’ 

‘Send my compliments — Colonel Mannering’s compliments 
to him, and I would be glad he would do me the pleasure of 
supping with me, and bring these papers with him; and I 

82 


GUY MANNERING 


good madam, you will say nothing of this to any one 

: else/ 

‘Me, sir? ne’er a word shall I say. I wish your honour (a 
I courtesy), or ony honourable gentleman that’s fought for 
( his country (another courtesy), had the land, since the auld 
\ family maun quit (a sigh), rather than that wily scoundrel 
Glossin, that’s risen on the ruin of the best friend he ever 
I had. And now I think on’t. I’ll slip on my hood and pattens, 
and gang to Mr. Mac-Morlan mysell, he’s at hame e’en now ; 
it’s hardly a step.’ 

‘Do so, my good landlady, and many thanks; and bid my 
servant step here with my portfolio in the meantime.’ 

' In a minute or two Colonel Mannering was quietly seated 
with his writing materials before him. We have the privi- 
lege of looking over his shoulder as he writes, and we will- 
ingly communicate its substance to our readers. The letter 
was addressed to Arthur Mervyn, Esq., of Mervyn Hall, 
Llanbraithwaite, Westmoreland. It contained some account 
of the writer’s previous journey since parting with him, and 
then proceeded as follows : — 

‘And now, why will you still upbraid me with my melan- 
choly, Mervyn ? Do you think, after the lapse of twenty-five 
years, battles, wounds, imprisonment, misfortunes of every 
description, I can be still the same lively, unbroken Guy Man- 
nering who climbed Skiddaw with you, or shot grouse upon 
Crossfell? That you, who have remained in the bosom of 
domestic happiness, experience little change, that your step 
is as light and your fancy as full of sunshine, is a blessed 
effect of health and temperament, co-operating with content 
and a smooth current down the course of life. But my ca- 
reer has been one of difficulties and doubts and errors. From 
my infancy I have been the sport of accident, and, though 
the wind, has often borne me into harbour, it has seldom been 
into that which the pilot destined. Let me recall to you — 
but the task must be brief — the odd and wayward fates of 
my youth, and the misfortunes of my manhood. 

‘The former, you will say, had nothing very appalling. 
All was not for the best; but all was tolerable. My father, 
the eldest son of an ancient but reduced family, left me with 
little, save the name of the head of the house, to the protec- 

83 


GUY MANNERING 


tion of his more fortunate brothers. They were so fond of 
me that they almost quarrelled about me. My uncle, the 
bishop, would have had me in orders, and offered me a liv- 
ing; my uncle, the merchant, would have put me into a 
counting-house, and proposed to give me a share in the thriv- 
ing concern of Mannering and Marshall, in Lombard Street. 
So, between these two stools, or rather these two soft, easy, 
well-stuffed chairs of divinity and commerce, my unfortunate , 
person slipped down, and pitched upon a dragoon saddle. 
Again, the bishop wished me to marry the niece and heiress 
of the Dean of Lincoln; and my uncle, the alderman, pro- 
posed to me the only daughter of old Sloethorn, the great 
wine-merchant, rich enough to play at span-counter with 
moidores and make thread-papers of bank-notes; and some- | 
how I slipped my neck out of both nooses, and married — 
poor, poor Sophia Well wood. 

'You will say, my military career in India, when I followed ! 
my regiment there, should have given me some satisfaction; 
and so it assuredly has. You will remind me also, that if I i 
disappointed the hopes of my guardians, I did not incur their 
displeasure; that the bishop, at his death, bequeathed me his ^ 
blessing, his manuscript sermons, and a curious portfolio con- 
taining the heads of eminent divines of the church of Eng- 
land; and that my uncle, Sir Paul Mannering, left me sole , 
heir and executor to his large fortune. Yet this availeth me i 
nothing ; I told you I had that upon my mind which I should 
carry to my grave with me, a perpetual aloes in the draught ! 
of existence. I will tell you the cause more in detail than I ' 
had the heart to do while under your hospitable roof. You 
will often hear it mentioned, and perhaps with different and 
unfounded circumstances. I will therefore speak it out ; and i 
then let the event itself, and the sentiments of melancholy ' 
with which it has impressed me, never again be subject of 
discussion between us. 

'Sophia, as you well know, followed me to India. She was i 
as innocent as gay; but, unfortunately for us both, as gay as i 
innocent. My own manners were partly formed by studies ; 
I had forsaken, and habits of seclusion not quite consistent ^ 
with my situation as commandant of a regiment in a country ; 
where universal hospitality is offered and expected by every i 


GUY MANNERING 


I settler claiming the rank of a gentleman. In a moment of 
I- peculiar pressure (you know how hard we were sometimes 
run to obtain white faces to countenance our line-of-battle), 
a young man named Brown joined our regiment as a volun- 
teer, and, finding the military duty more to his fancy than 
commerce, in which he had been engaged, remained with us 
as a cadet. Let me do my unhappy victim justice: he be- 
haved with such gallantry on every occasion that offered that 
the first vacant commission was considered as his due. I was 
absent for some weeks upon a distant expedition ; when I re- 
turned I found this young fellow established quite as the 
friend of the house, and habitual attendant of my wife and 
daughter. It was an arrangement which displeased me in 
I many particulars, though no objection could be made to his 
' manners or character. Yet I might have been reconciled to 
; his familiarity in my family, but for the suggestions of an- 
other. If you read over — what I never dare open — the play 
of ‘Othello,’ you will have some idea of what followed — I 
mean of my motives ; my actions, thank God ! were less rep- 
rehensible. There was another cadet ambitious of the va- 
cant situation. He called my attention to what he led me 
to term coquetry between my wife and this young man. 
Sophia was virtuous, but proud of her virtue; and, irritated 
by my jealousy, she was so imprudent as to press and en- 
courage an intimacy which she saw I disapproved and re- 
garded with suspicion. Between Brown and me there existed 
a sort of internal dislike. He made an effort or two to over- 
come my prejudice; but, prepossessed as I was, I placed them 
to a wrong motive. Feeling himself repulsed, and withf 
scorn, he desisted ; and as he was without family and friends, 
he was naturally more watchful of the deportment of one 
who had both. 

‘It is odd with what torture I write this letter. I feel in- 
clined, nevertheless, to protract the operation, just as if my 
doing so could put off the catastrophe which has so long em- 
bittered my life. But — it must be told, and it shall be told 
briefly. 

‘My wife, though no longer young, was still eminently 
handsome, and — let me say thus far in my own justification 
— she was fond of being thought so — I am repeating what I 

85 


GUY MANNERING 


said before. In a word, of her virtue I never entertained a 
doubt; but, pushed by the artful suggestions of Archer, I 
thought she cared little for my peace of mind, and that the 
young fellow Brown paid his attentions in my despite, and in 
defiance of me. He perhaps considered me, on his part, as 
an oppressive aristocratic man, who made my rank in society 
and in the army the means of galling those whom circum- 
stances placed beneath me. And if he discovered my silly 
jealousy, he probably considered the fretting nie in that sore 
point of my character as one means of avenging the petty 
indignities to which I had it in my power to subject him. 
Yet an acute friend of mine gave a more harmless, or at 
least a less offensive, construction to his attentions, which he 
conceived to be meant for my daughter Julia, though imme- 
diately addressed to propitiate the influence of her mother. 
This could have been no very flattering or pleasing enterprise 
on the part of an obscure and nameless young man; but I 
should not have been offended at this folly as I was at the 
higher degree of presumption I suspected. Offended, how- 
ever, I was, and in a mortal degree. 

‘A very slight spark will kindle a flame where everything 
lies open to catch it. I have absolutely forgot the proximate 
cause of quarrel, but it was some trifle which occurred at the 
card-table which occasioned high words and a challenge. 
We met in the morning beyond the walls and esplanade of 
the fortress which I theij commanded, on the frontiers of the 
settlement. This was arranged for Brown’s safety, had he 
escaped. I almost wish he had, though at my own expense ; 
but he fell by the first fire. We strove to assist him; but 
some of these looties, a species of native banditti who were 
always on the watch for prey, poured in upon us. Archer 
and I gained our horses with difficulty, and cut our way 
through them after a hard conflict, in the course of which 
he received some desperate wounds. To complete the mis- 
fortunes of this miserable day, my wife, who suspected the 
design with which I left the fortress, had ordered her palan- 
quin to follow me, and was alarmed and almost made pris- 
oner by another troop of these plunderers. She was quickly 
released by a party of our cavalry; but I cannot disguise 
from myself that the incidents of this fatal morning gave a 


GUY MANNERING 


severe shock to health already delicate. The confession of 
j Archer, who thought himself dying, that he had invented 
^ some circumstances, and for his purposes put the worst con- 
I struction upon others, and the full explanation and exchange 
of forgiveness with me which this produced, could not check 
the progress of her disorder. She died within about eight 
months after this incident, bequeathing me only the girl of 
whom Mrs. Mervyn is so good as to undertake the temporary 
charge. Julia was also extremely ill ; so much so that I was 
induced to throw up my command and return to Europe, 
where her native air, time, and the novelty of the scenes 
around her have contributed to dissipate her dejection and 
restore her health. 

‘Now that you know my story, you will no longer ask me 
the reason of my melancholy, but permit me to brood upon it 
as I may. There is, surely, in the above narrative enough 
to embitter, thought not to poison, the chalice which the for- 
tune and fame you so often mention had prepared to regale 
my years of retirement. 

‘I could add circumstances which our old tutor would have 
quoted as instances of day fatality , — you would laugh were I 
to mention such particulars, especially as you know I put no 
faith in them. Yet, since I have come to the very house 
from which I now write, I have learned a singular coinci- 
dence, which, if I find it truly established by tolerable evi- 
dence, will serve us hereafter for subject of curious discus- 
sion. But I will spare you at present, as I expect a person to 
speak about a purchase of property now open in this part of 
the country. It is a place to which I have a foolish par- 
tiality, and I hope my purchasing may be convenient to those 
who are parting with it, as there is a plan for buying it under 
the value. My respectful compliments to Mrs. Mervyn, and 
I will trust you, though you boast to be so lively a young 
gentleman, to kiss Julia for me. Adieu, dear Mervyn.-— 
Thine ever, 

‘Guy Mannering.^ 

Mr. Mac-Morlan now entered the room. The well-known 
character of Colonel Mannering at once disposed this gentle- 
man, who was a man of intelligence and probity, to be open 

87 


GUY MANNERING 


and confidential. He explained the advantages and disad- 
vantages of the property. ‘It was settled/ he said, ‘the 
greater part of it at least, upon heirs-male, and the purchaser 
would have the privilege of retaining in his hands a large 
proportion of the price, in case of the reappearance, within a 
certain limited term, of the child who had disappeared.' 

‘To what purpose, then, force forward a sale?' said 
Mannering. 

Mac-Morlan smiled. ‘Ostensibly,' he answered, ‘to substi- 
tute the interest of money instead of the ill-paid and preca- 
rious rents of an unimproved estate; but chiefly, it was 
believed, to suit the wishes and views of a certain intended 
purchaser, who had become a principal creditor, and forced 
himself into the management of the affairs by means best 
known to himself, and who, it was thought, would find it very 
convenient to purchase the estate without paying down the 
price.’ 

Mannering consulted with Mr. Mac-Morlan upon the steps 
for thwarting this unprincipled attempt. They then con- 
versed long on the singular disappearance of Harry Bertram 
upon his fifth birthday, verifying thus the random prediction 
of Mannering, of which, however, it will readily be supposed 
he made no boast. Mr. Mac-Morlan was not himself in 
office when that incident took place; but he was well ac- 
quainted with all the circumstances, and promised that our 
hero should have them detailed by the sheriff-depute himself, 
if, as he proposed, he should become a settler in that part of 
Scotland. With this assurance they parted, well satisfied 
with each other and with the evening’s conference. 

On the Sunday following. Colonel Mannering attended the 
parish church with great decorum. None of the Ellangowan 
family were present; and it was understood that the old 
Laird was rather worse than better. Jock Jabos, once more 
despatched for him, returned once more without his errand; 
but on the following day Miss Bertram hoped he might be 
removed. 


88 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XIII. 

They told me, by the sentence of the law. 

They had commission to seize all thy fortune. 

Here stood a ruffian with a horrid face. 

Lording it o’er a pile of massy plate. 

Tumbled into a heap for public sale; 

There was another, making villainous jests 
At thy undoing; he had ta’en possession 
Of all thy ancient most domestic ornaments. 

Otway. 

E arly next morning Mannering mounted his horse and, 
accompanied by his servant, took the road to Ellan- 
gowan. He had, no need to inquire the way. A sale in the 
country is a place of public resort and amusement, and people 
of various descriptions streamed to it from all quarters. 

After a pleasant ride of about an hour, the old towers of 
the ruin presented themselves in the. landscape. The 
thoughts, with what different feelings he had lost sight of 
them so many years before, thronged upon the mind of the 
traveller. The landscape was the same; but how changed 
the feelings, hopes, and views of the spectator! Then life 
and love were new, and all the prospect was gilded by their 
rays. And now, disappointed in affection, sated with fame 
and what the world calls success, his mind goaded by bitter 
and repentant recollection, his best hope was to find a retire- 
ment in which he might nurse the melancholy that was to 
accompany him to his grave. ‘Yet why should an individual 
mourn over the instability of his hopes and the vanity of his 
prospects? The ancidnt chiefs who erected these enormous 
and massive towers to be the fortress of their race and the 
seat of their power, — could they have dreamed the day was 
to come when the last of their descendants should be expelled, 
a ruined wanderer, from his possessions ! But Nature's 
bounties are unaltered. The sun will shine as fair on these 
ruins, whether the property of a stranger or of a sordid and 
obscure trickster of the abused law, as when the banners of 
the founder first waved upon their battlements.' 

These reflections brought Mannering to the door of the 
house, which was that day open to all. He entered among 
others, who traversed the apartments, some to select articles 

89 


GUY MANNERING 


for purchase, others to gratify their curiosity. There is 
something melancholy in such a scene, even under the most 
favourable circumstances. The confused state of the furni- 
ture, displaced for the convenience of being easily viewed and 
carried off by the purchasers, is disagreeable to the eye. 
Those articles which, properly and decently arranged, look 
creditable and handsome, have then a paltry and wretched 
appearance; and the apartments, stripped of all that render 
them commodious and comfortable, have an aspect of ruin 
and dilapidation. It is disgusting also to see the scenes of 
domestic society and seclusion thrown open to the gaze of 
the curious and the vulgar, to hear their coarse speculations 
and brutal jests upon the fashions and furniture to which 
they are unaccustomed, — a frolicsome humour much cher- 
ished by the whisky which in Scotland is always put in cir- 
culation on such occasions. All these are ordinary effects of 
such a scene as Ellangowan now presented; but the moral 
feeling, that in this case they indicated the total ruin of an 
ancient and honourable family, gave them treble weight and 
poignancy. 

It was some time before Colonel Mannering could find any 
one disposed to answer his reiterated questions concerning 
Ellangowan himself. At length an old maid-servant, who 
held her apron to her eyes as she spoke, told him ‘the Laird 
was something better, and they hoped he would be able to 
leave the house that day. Miss Lucy expected the chaise 
every moment, and, as the day was fine for the time o’ year, 
they had carried him in his easy-chair up to the green before 
the auld castle, to be out of the way <5f this unco spectacle.’ 
Thither Colonel Mannering went in quest of him, and soon 
came in sight of the little group, which consisted of four per- 
sons. The ascent was steep, so that he had time to recon- 
noitre them as he advanced, and to consider in what mode he 
should make his address. 

Mr. Bertram, paralytic and almost incapable of moving, 
occupied his easy-chair, attired in his nightcap and a loose 
camlet coat, his feet wrapped in blankets. Behind him, with 
his hands crossed on the cane upon which he rested, stood 
Dominie Sampson, whom Mannering recognised at once. 
Time had made no change upon him, unless that his black 

90 


GUY MANNERING 


coat seemed more brown, and his gaunt cheeks more lank, 
than when Mannering last saw him. On one side of the old 
man was a sylph-like form — a young woman of about seven- 
teen, whom the Colonel accounted to be his daughter. She 
was looking from time to time anxiously towards the avenue, 
as if expecting the post-chaise; and between whiles busied 
herself in adjusting the blankets so as to protect her father 
from the cold, and in answering inquiries, which he seemed 
to make with a captious and querulous manner. She did not 
trust herself to look towards the Place, although the hum of 
the assembled crowd must have drawn her attention in that 
direction. The fourth person of the group was a handsome 
and genteel young man, who seemed to share Miss Bertram's 
anxiety, and her solicitude to soothe and accommodate her 
parent. 

This young man was the first who observed Colonel Man- 
nering, and immediately stepped forward to meet him, as if 
politely to prevent his drawing nearer to the distressed group. 
Mannering instantly paused and explained. ‘He was,' he 
said, ‘a stranger to whom Mr. Bertram had formerly shown 
kindness and hospitality; he would not have intruded himself 
upon him at a period of distress, did it not seem to be in some 
degree a moment also of desertion ; he wished merely to offer 
such services as might be in his power to Mr. Bertram and 
the young lady.' 

He then paused at a little distance from the chair. His old 
acquaintance gazed at him with lack-lustre eye, that intimated 
no tokens of recognition; the Dominie seemed too deeply 
sunk in distress even to observe his presence. The young 
man spoke aside with Miss Bertram, who advanced timidly, 
and thanked Colonel Mannering for his goodness; ‘but,' she 
said, the tears gushing fast into her eyes, ‘her father, she 
feared, was not so much himself as to be able to remember 
him.' 

She then retreated towards the chair, accompanied by the 
Colonel. ‘Father,' she said, ‘this is Mr. Mannering, an old 
friend, come to inquire after you.' 

‘He's very heartily welcome,' said the old man, raising 
himself in his chair, and attempting a gesture of courtesy, 
while a gleam of hospitable satisfaction seemed to pass over 

91 


GUY MANNERING 


his faded features; ‘but, Lucy, my dear, let us go down to 
the house; you should not keep the gentleman here in the 
cold. Dominie, take the key of the wine-cooler. Mr. a — a — 
the gentleman will surely take something after his ride." 

Mannering was unspeakably affected by the contrast which 
his recollection made between this reception and that with 
which he had been greeted by the same individual when they 
last met. He could not restrain his tears, and his evident 
emotion at once attained him the confidence of the friendless 
young lady. 

‘Alas !’ she said, ‘this is distressing even to a stranger ; but 
it may be better for my poor father to be in this way than 
if he knew and could feel all." 

A servant in livery now came up the path, and spoke in an 
undertone to the young gentleman — ‘Mr. Charles, my lady"s 
wanting you yonder sadly, to bid for her the black ebony 
cabinet; and Lady Jean Devorgoil is wi" her an" a"; ye maun 
come away directly." 

‘Tell them you could not find me, Tom; or, stay, — say I 
am looking at the horses." 

‘No, no, no," said Lucy Bertram, earnestly; ‘if you would 
not add to the misery of this miserable moment, go to the 
company directly. This gentleman, I am sure, will see us to 
the carriage." 

‘Unquestionably, madam," said Mannering, ‘your young 
friend may rely on my attention." 

‘Farewell, then," said young Hazlewood, and whispered a 
word in her ear; then ran down the steps hastily, as if not 
trusting his resolution at a slower pace. 

‘Where"s Charles Hazlewood running?" said the invalid, 
who apparently was accustomed to his presence and atten- 
tions; ‘where"s Charles Hazlewood running? what takes him 
away now?" 

‘He"ll return in a little while," said Lucy, gently. 

The sound of voices was now heard from the ruins. The 
reader may remember there was a communication between 
the castle and the beach, up which the speakers had as- 
cended. 

‘Yes, there’s plenty of shells and seaware for manure, as 
you observe ; and if one inclined to build a new house, which 

92 


GUY MANNERING 


might indeed be necessary, there’s a great deal of good hewn 
stone about this old dungeon, for the devil here ’ 

‘Good God !’ said Miss Bertram hastily to Sampson, ‘’tis 
that wretch Glossin’s voice! If my father sees him, it will 
kill him outright!’ 

Sampson wheeled perpendicularly round, and moved with 
long strides to confront the attorney as he issued from be- 
neath the portal arch of the ruin. ‘Avoid ye !’ he said, ‘avoid 
ye ! ! wouldst thou kill and take possession ?’ 

‘Come, come. Master Dominie Sampson,’ answered Glossin 
insolently, ‘if ye cannot preach in the pulpit, we’ll have no 
preaching here. We go by the law, my good friend; we 
leave the gospel to you.’ 

The very mention of this man’s name had been of late a 
subject of the most violent irritation to the unfortunate pa- 
tient. The sound of his voice now produced an instantaneous 
effect. Mr. Bertram started up without assistance and turned 
round towards him ; the ghastliness of his features forming a 
strange contrast with the violence of his exclamations. — ‘Out 
of my sight, ye viper! ye frozen viper, that I warmed till ye 
stung me ! Art thou not afraid that the walls of my father’s 
dwelling should fall and crush thee limb and bone? Are ye 
not afraid the very lintels of the door of Ellangowan Castle 
should break open and swallow you up ? Were ye not friend- 
less, houseless, penniless, when I took ye by the hand; and 
are ye not expelling me — me and that innocent girl — friend- 
less, houseless, and penniless, from the house that has shel- 
tered us and ours for a thousand years?’ 

Had Glossin been alone, he would probably have slunk 
off; but the consciousness that a stranger was present, be- 
sides the person who came with him (a sort of land-sur- 
veyor), determined him to resort to impudence. The task, 
however, was almost too hard even for his effrontery — ‘Sir 
—sir — Mr. Bertram, sir, you should not blame me, but your 
own imprudence, sir * 

The indignation of Mannering was mounting very high. 
'Sir,’ he said to Glossin, ‘without entering into the merits of 
this controversy, I must inform you that you have chosen a 
very improper place, time, and presence for it. And you will 
oblige me by withdrawing without more words.’ 

93 


GUY MANNERING 


Glossin, being a tall, strung, muscular man, was not un- 
willing rather to turn upon the stranger, whom he hoped to 
bully, than maintain his wretched cause against his injured 
patron. — ‘I do not know who you are, sir,’ he said, ‘and I 
shall permit no man to use such d — d freedom with me.’ 

Mannering was naturally hot-tempered : his eyes flashed 
a dark light; he compressed his nether lip so closely that the 
blood sprung, and approaching Glossin — ‘Look you, sir,’ he 
said, ‘that you do not know me is of little consequence. I 
know you; and if you do not instantly descend that bank, 
without uttering a single syllable, by the Heaven that is 
above us you shall make but one step from the top to the 
bottom !’ 

The commanding tone of rightful anger silenced at once 
the ferocity of the bully. He hesitated, turned on his heel, 
and, muttering something between his teeth about unwilling- 
ness to alarm the lady, relieved them of his hateful company. 

Mrs. Mac-Candlish’s postilion, who had come up in time to 
hear what passed, said aloud, ‘If he had stuck by the way, 
I would have lent him a heezie, the dirty scoundrel, as will- 
ingly as ever I pitched a boddle.’ 

He then stepped forward to announce that his horses were 
in readiness for the invalid and his daughter. 

But they were no longer necessary. The debilitated frame 
of Mr. Bertram was exhausted by this last effort of indignant 
anger, and when he sunk again upon his chair, he expired 
almost without a struggle or groan. So little alteration did 
the extinction of the vital spark make upon his external ap- 
pearance that the screams of his daughter, when she saw his 
eye fix and felt his pulse stop, first announced his death to 
the spectators. 


94 


GUY MANNERING 


1 CHAPTER XIV. 

I The bell strikes one,. We take no note of time 

But from its loss. To give it then a tongue 
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 

I feel the solemn sound. 

Young. 

I ^ I ^HE moral which the poet has rather quaintly deduced 
X from the necessary mode of measuring time may be 
f well applied to our feelings respecting that portion of it 
I which constitutes human life. We observe the aged, the 
I infirm, and those engaged in occupations of immediate 
hazard, trembling as it were upon the very brin,k of non- 
existence, but we derive no lesson from the precariousness 
of their tenure until it has altogether failed. Then, for a 
moment at least — 

Our hopes and fears 

Start up alarm’d, and o’er life’s narrow verge 
Look down — on what? a fathomless abyss, 

A dark eternity, how surely ours! 

The crowd of assembled gazers and idlers at Ellangowan 
had followed the views of amusement, or what they called 
business, which brought them there, with little regard to the 
feelings of those who were suffering upon that occasion. 
Few, indeed, knew anything of the family. The father, be- 
.twixt seclusion, misfortune, and imbecility, had drifted, as it 
were, for many years out of the notice of his contemporaries ; 
the daughter had never been known to them. But when 
the general murmur announced that the unfortunate Mr. 
Bertram had broken his heart in the effort to leave the man- 
sion of his forefathers, there poured forth a torrent of sym- 
pathy like the waters from the rock when stricken by the 
wand of the prophet. The ancient descent and unblemished 
integrity of the family were respectfully remembered; above 
all, the sacred veneration due to misfortune, which in Scot- 
land seldom demands its tribute in vain, then claimed and 
received it. 

Mr. Mac-Morlan hastily announced that he would sus- 

95 


GtJY MANNERING 


pend all farther proceedings in the sale of the estate and 
other property, and relinquished the possession of the prem- 
ises to the young lady, until she could consult with her 
friends and provide for the burial of her father. 

Glossin had cowered for a few minutes under the general 
expression of sympathy, till, hardened by observing that no 
appearance of popular indignation was directed his way, he 
had the audacity to require that the sale should proceed.' 

‘I will take it upon my own authority to adjourn it,’ said 
the Sheriff-substitute, ‘and will be responsible for the con- 
sequences. I will also give due notice when it is again to go 
forward. It is for the benefit of all concerned that the lands 
should bring the highest price the state of the market will 
admit, and this is surely no time to expect it. I will take 
the responsibility upon myself.’ 

Glossin left the room and the house too with secrecy and 
despatch; and it was probably well for him that he did so, 
since our friend Jack Jabos was already haranguing a nu- 
merous tribe of bare-legged boys on the propriety of pelting 
him off the estate. 

Some of the rooms were hastily put in order for the re- 
ception of the young lady, and of her father’s dead body. 
Mannering now found his farther interference would be un- 
necessary, and might be misconstrued. He observed, too, 
that several families connected with that of Ellangowan, and 
who indeed derived their principal claim of gentility from the 
alliance, were now disposed to pay to their trees of genealogy 
a tribute which the adversity of their supposed relatives had 
been inadequate to call forth ; and that the honour of super- 
intending the funeral rites of the dead Godfrey Bertram (as 
in the memorable case of Homer’s birthplace) was likely to 
be debated by seven gentlemen of rank and fortune, none of 
whom had offered him an asylum while living. He there- 
fore resolved, as his presence was altogether useless, to make 
a short tour of a fortnight, at the end of which period the 
adjourned sale of the estate of Ellangowan was to proceed. 

But before he departed he solicited an interview with the 
Dominie. The poor man appeared, on being informed a 
gentleman wanted to speak to him, with some expression of 
surprise in his gaunt features, to which recent sorrow had 

96 


GUY MANNERING 


given an expression yet more grisly. He made two or three 
profound reverences to Mannering, and then, standing erect, 
patiently waited an explanation of his commands. 

‘You are probably at a loss to guess, Mr. Sampson,’ said 
Mannering, ‘what a stranger may have to say to you?’ 

‘Unless it were to request that I would undertake to train 
up some youth in polite letters and humane learning; but I 
cannot — I cannot ; I have yet a task to perform.’ 

‘No, Mr. Sampson, my wishes are not so ambitious. I 
have no son, and my only daughter, I presume, you would 
not consider as a fit pupil.’ 

‘Of a surety no,’ replied the simple-minded Sampson. 
‘Nathless, it was I who did educate Miss Lucy in all useful 
learning, albeit it was the housekeeper who did teach her 
those unprofitable exercises of hemming and shaping.’ 

‘Well, sir,’ replied Mannering, ‘it is of Miss Lucy I meant 
to speak. You have, I presume, no recollection of me?’ 

Sampson, always sufficiently absent in mind, neither re- 
membered the astrologer of past years, nor even the stranger 
who had taken his patron’s part against Glossin, so much 
had his friend’s sudden death embroiled his ideas. 

‘Well, that does not signify,’ pursued the Colonel; ‘I am 
an old acquaintance of the late Mr. Bertram, able and will- 
ing to assist his daughter in her present circumstances. Be- 
sides I have thoughts of making this purchase, and I should 
wish things kept in order about the place; will you have the 
goodness to apply this small sum in the usual family ex- 
penses ?’ He put into the Dominie’s hand a purse containing 
some gold. 

‘Pro-di-gi-ous !’ exclaimed Dominie Sampson. ‘But if your 
honour would tarry ’ 

‘Impossible, sir, impossible,’ said Mannering, making his 
escape from him. 

‘Pro-di-gi-ous !’ again exclaimed Sampson, following to 
the head of the stairs, still holding out the purse. ‘But as 
touching this coined money ’ 

Mannering escaped down stairs as fast as possible. 

‘Pro-di-gi-ous !’ exclaimed Dominie Sampson, yet the third 
time, now standing at the front door. ‘But as touching this 
specie- 

7 


97 


GUY MANNERING 


But Mannering was now on horseback, and out of hear- 
ing. The Dominie, who had never, either in his own right 
or as trustee for another, been possessed of a quarter part of 
this sum, though it was not above twenty guineas, ‘took 
counsel,’ as he expressed himself, ‘how he should demean 
himself with respect unto the fine gold’ thus left in his 
charge. Fortunately he found a disinterested adviser in Mac- 
Morlan, who pointed out the most proper means of dispos- 
ing of it for contributing to Miss Bertram’s convenience, be- 
ing no doubt the purpose to which it was destined by the 
bestower. 

Many of the neighbouring gentry were now sincerely eager 
in pressing offers of hospitality and kindness upon Miss Ber- 
tram. But she felt a natural reluctance to enter any family 
for the first time as an object rather of benevolence than hos- 
pitality, and determined to wait the opinion and advice of 
her father’s nearest female relation, Mrs. Margaret Bertram 
of Singleside, an old unmarried lady, to whom she wrote an 
account of her present distressful situation. 

The funeral of the late Mr. Bertram was performed with 
decent privacy, and the unfortunate young lady was now to 
consider herself as but the temporary tenant of the house in 
which she had been born, and where her patience and sooth- 
ing attentions had so long ‘rocked the cradle of declining 
age.’ Her communication with Mr. Mac-Morlan encouraged 
her to hope that she would not be suddenly or unkindly 
deprived of this asylum; but fortune had ordered other- 
wise. 

For two days before the appointed day for the sale of 
the lands and estate of Ellangowan, Mac-Morlan daily ex- 
pected the appearance of Colonel Mannering, or at least a 
letter containing powers to act for him. But none such ar- 
rived. Mr. Mac-Morlan waked early in the morning, walked 
over to the Post-office, — there were no letters for him. He 
endeavoured to persuade himself that he should see Colonel 
Mannering to breakfast, and ordered his wife to place her 
best china and prepare herself accordingly. But the prepara- 
tions were in vain. ‘Could I have foreseen this,’ he said, ‘I 
would have travelled Scotland over, but I would have found 
some one to bid against Glossin.’ Alas ! such reflections were 

98 


GUY MANNERING 


all too late. The appointed hour arrived ; and the parties met 
in the Masons’ Lodge at Kippletringan, being the place fixed 
for the adjourned sale. Mac-Morlan spent as much time in 
preliminaries as decency would permit, and read over the arti- 
cles of sale as slowly as if he had been reading his^ own death- 
warrant. He turned his eye every time the door of the room 
opened, with hopes which grew fainter and fainter. He 
listened to every noise in the street of the village, and en- 
deavoured to distinguish in it the sound of hoofs or wheels. 
It was all in vain. A bright idea then occurred, that Colonel 
Mannering might have employed some other person in the 
transaction; he would not have wasted a moment’s thought 
upon the want of confidence in himself which such a ma- 
noeuvre would have evinced. But this hope also was ground- 
less. After a solemn pause, Mr. Glossin offered the upset 
price for the lands and barony of Ellangowan. No reply 
was made, and no competitor appeared; so, after a lapse of 
the usual interval by the running of a sand-glass, upon the 
intended purchaser entering the proper sureties, Mr. Mac- 
Morlan was obliged, in technical terms, to ‘find and declare 
the sale lawfully completed, and to prefer the said Gilbert 
Glossin as the purchaser of the said lands and estate.’ The 
honest writer refused to partake of a splendid entertainment 
with which Gilbert Glossin, Esquire, now of Ellangowan, 
treated the rest of the company, and returned home in huge 
bitterness of spirit, which he vented in complaints against the 
fickleness and caprice of these Indian nabobs, who never 
knew what they would be at for ten days together. Fortune 
generously determined to take the blame upon herself, and 
cut off even this vent of Mac-Morlan’s resentment. 

An express arrived about six o’clock at night, ‘very par- 
ticularly drunk,’ the maid-servant said, with a packet from 
Colonel Mannering, dated four days back, at a town about 
a hundred miles’ distance from Kippletringan, containing 
full power to Mr. Mac-Morlan, or any one whom he might 
employ, to make the intended purchase, and stated that some 
family business of consequence called the Colonel himself to 
Westmoreland, where a letter would find him, addressed to 
the care of Arthur Mervyn, Esq., of Mervyn Hall. 

Mac-Morlan, in the transports of his wrath, flung the 

L.cfC. 99 


GUY MANNERING 


power of attorney at the head of the innocent maid-servant, 
and was only forcibly withheld from horse-whipping the 
rascally messenger by whose sloth and drunkenness the dis- 
appointment had taken place. 


CHAPTER XV. 


My gold is gone, my money is spent. 

My land now take it unto thee. 

Give me thy gold, good John o’ the Scales, 

And thine for aye my land shall be. 

Then John he did him to record draw. 

And John he caste him a god’s-pennie ; 

But for every pounde that John agreed. 

The land, I wis, was well worth three. 

Heir of Linne. 

T he Galwegian John o’ the Scales was a more clever 
fellow than his prototype. He contrived to make him- 
self heir of Linne without the disagreeable ceremony of ‘tell- 
ing down the good red gold.’ Miss Bertram no sooner heard 
this painful, and of late unexpected, intelligence than she pro- 
ceeded in the preparations she had already made for leaving 
the mansion-house immediately. Mr. Mac-Morlan assisted 
her in these arrangements, and pressed upon her so kindly 
the hospitality and protection of his roof, until she should 
receive an answer from her cousin, or be enabled to adopt 
some settled plan of life, that she felt there would be un- 
kindness in refusing an invitation urged with such earnest- 
ness. Mrs. Mac-Morlan was a ladylike person, and well 
qualified by birth and manners to receive the visit, and to 
make her house agreeable to Miss Bertram. A home, there- 
fore, and an hospitable reception were secured to her, and 
she went on with better heart to pay the wages and receive 
the adieus of the few domestics of her father’s family. 

Where there are estimable qualities on either side, this task 
is always affecting; the present circumstances rendered it 
doubly so. All received their due, and even a trifle more, and 
with thanks and good wishes, to which some added tears, 

100 


GUY MANNERING 


took farewell of their young mistress. There remained in 
the parlour only Mr. Mac-Morlan, who came to attend his 
guest to his house, Dominie Sampson, and Miss Bertram. 
‘And now,' said the poor girl, ‘I must bid farewell to one of 
my oldest and kindest friends. God bless you, Mr. Samp- 
son, and requite to you all the kindness of your instructions 
to your poor pupil, and your friendship to him that is gone. 
I hope I shall often hear from you.’ She slid into his hand 
a paper containing some pieces of gold, and rose, as if to 
leave the room. 

Dominie Sampson also rose; but it was to stand aghast 
with utter astonishment. The idea of parting from Miss 
Lucy, go where she might, had never once occurred to the 
simplicity of his understanding. He laid the money on the 
table. ‘It is certainly inadequate,’ said Mac-Morlan, mistak- 
ing his meaning, ‘but the circumstances ’ 

Mr. Sampson waved his hand impatiently. — ‘It is not the 
lucre, it is not the lucre ; but that I, that have ate of her fath- 
er’s loaf, and drank of his cup, for twenty years and more — 
to think that I am going to leave her, and to leave her in 
distress and dolour! No, Miss Lucy, you need never think 
it! You would not consent to put forth your father’s poor 
dog, and would you use me waur than a messan? No, Miss 
Lucy Bertram, while I live I will not separate from you. I’ll 
be no burden ; I have thought how to prevent that. But, as 
Ruth said unto Naomi, “Entreat me not to leave thee, nor 
to depart from thee; for whither thou goest I will go, and 
where thou dwellest I will dwell ; thy people shall be my peo- 
ple, and thy God shall be my God. Where thou diest will I 
die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and 
more also, if aught but death do part thee and me.” ’ 

During this speech, the longest ever Dominie Sampson was 
known to utter, the affectionate creature’s eyes streamed 
with tears, and neither Lucy nor Mac-Morlan could refrain 
from sympathising with this unexpected burst of feeling and 
attachment. ‘Mr. Sampson,’ said Mac-Morlan, after having 
had recourse to his snuff-box and handkerchief alternately, 
‘my house is large enough, and if you will accept of a bed 
there while Miss Bertram honours us with her residence, I 
shall think myself very happy, and my roof much favoured, 

lOI 


GUY MANNERING 


by receiving a man of your worth and fidelity/ And then, 
with a delicacy which was meant to remove any obligation 
on Miss Bertram’s part to bringing with her this unexpected 
satellite, he added, ‘My business requires my frequently hav- 
ing occasion for a better accountant than any of my present 
clerks, and I should be glad to have recourse to your assist- 
ance in that way now and then/ 

‘Of a surety, of a surety,’ said Sampson eagerly; ‘I un- 
derstand book-keeping by double entry and the Italian 
method.’ 

Our postilion had thrust himself into the room to an- 
nounce his chaise and horses; he tarried, unobserved, during 
this extraordinary scene, and assured Mrs. Mac-Candlish it 
was the most moving thing he ever saw; ‘the death of the 
grey mare, puir hizzie, was naething till’t.’ This trifling cir- 
cumstance afterwards had consequences of greater moment 
to the Dominie. 

The visitors were hospitably welcomed by Mrs. Mac-Mor- 
lan, to whom, as well as to others, her husband intimated that 
he had engaged Dominie Sampson’s assistance to disentangle 
some perplexed accounts, during which occupation he would, 
for convenience sake, reside with the family. Mr. Mac- 
Morlan’s knowledge of the world induced him to put this 
colour upon the matter, aware that, however honourable the 
fidelity of the Dominie’s attachment might be both to his 
own heart and to the family of Ellangowan, his exterior ill 
qualified him to be a ‘squire of dames,’ and rendered him, 
upon the whole, rather a ridiculous appendage to a beautiful 
young woman of seventeen. 

Dominie Sampson achieved with great zeal such tasks as 
Mr. Mac-Morlan chose to entrust him with ; but it was 
speedily observed that at a certain hour after breakfast he 
regularly disappeared, and returned again about dinner- 
time. The evening he occupied in the labour of the office. 
On Saturday he appeared before Mac-Morlan with a look 
of great triumph, and laid on the table two pieces of gold. 
‘What is this for. Dominie?’ said Mac-Morlan. 

‘First to indemnify you of your charges in my behalf, 
worthy sir; and the balance for the use of Miss Lucy Ber- 
tram.’ 


102 


GUY MANNERING 


'But, Mr. Sampson, your labour in the office much more 
than recompenses me ; I am your debtor, my good friend.’ 

‘Then be it all,’ said the Dominie, waving his hand, ‘for 
Miss Lucy Bertram’s behoof.’ 

‘Well, but. Dominie, this money ’ 

‘It is honestly come by, Mr. Mac-Morlan ; it is the bounti- 
ful reward of a young gentleman to whom I am teaching 
I the tongues ; reading with him three hours daily.’ 

A few more questions extracted from the Dominie that 
this liberal pupil was young Hazlewood, and that he met his 
preceptor daily at the house of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, whose 
proclamation of Sampson’s disinterested attachment to the 
young lady had procured him this indefatigable and bounte- 
ous scholar. 

Mac-Morlan was much struck with what he heard. Domi- 
nie Sampson was doubtless a very good scholar, and an ex- 
cellent man, and the classics were unquestionably very well 
worth reading; yet that a young man of twenty should ride 
seven miles and back each day in the week, to hold this sort 
of tete-a-tete of three hours, was a zeal for literature to which 
he was not prepared to give entire credit. Little art was 
necessary to sift the Dominie, for the honest man’s head 
never admitted any but the most direct and simple ideas. 
‘Does Miss Bertram know how your time is engaged, my 
good friend?’ 

‘Surely not as yet. Mr. Charles recommended it should 
be concealed from her, lest she should scruple to accept of the 
small assistance arising from it ; but,’ he added, ‘it would not 
be possible to conceal it long, since Mr. Charles proposed 
taking his lessons occasionally in this house.’ 

‘O, he does!’ said Mac-Morlan. ‘Yes, yes, I can under- 
stand that better. And pray, Mr. Sampson, are these three 
hours entirely spent in construing and translating?’ 

‘Doubtless, no ; we have also colloquial intercourse to sweet- 
en study : neque sempre arcum tendit Apollo f 

The querist proceeded to elicit from this Galloway Phoebus 
what their discourse chiefly turned upon. 

‘Upon our past meetings at Ellangowan ; and, truly, I think 
very often we discourse concerning Miss Lucy, for Mr. 
Charles Hazlewood in that particular resembleth me, Mr. 

103 


GUY MANNERING 


Mac-Morlan. When I begin to speak of her I never know 
when to stop; and as I say (jocularly), she cheats us out of 
half our lessons/ 

‘O ho!’ thought Mac-Morlan, 'sits the wind in that quar- 
ter? I’ve heard something like this before/ 

He then began to consider what conduct was safest for 
his protegee and even for himself ; for the senior Mr. Hazle- 
wood was powerful, wealthy, ambitious, and vindictive, and 
looked for both fortune and title in any connection which his 
son might form. At length, having the highest opinion of 
his guest’s good sense and penetration, he determined to take 
an opportunity, when they should happen to be alone, to 
communicate the matter to her as a simple piece of intelli- 
gence. He did so in as natural a manner as he could. 'I 
wish you joy of your friend Mr. Sampson’s good fortune. 
Miss Bertram ; he has got a pupil who pays him two guineas 
for twelve lessons of Greek and Latin.’ 

‘Indeed ! I am equally happy and surprised. Who can 
be so liberal? is Colonel Mannering returned?’ 

‘No, no, not Colonel Mannering; but what do you think of 
your acquaintance, Mr. Charles Hazlewood? He talks of 
taking his lessons here; I wish we may have accommodation 
for him.’ 

Lucy blushed deeply. ‘For Heaven’s sake, no, Mr. Mac- 
Morlan, do not let that be; Charles Hazlewood has had 
enough mischief about that already.’ 

‘About the classics, my dear young lady?’ wilfully seem- 
ing to misunderstand her ; ‘most young gentlemen have so at 
one period or another, sure enough; but his present studies 
are voluntary.’ 

Miss Bertram let the conversation drop, and her host made 
no effort to renew it, as she seemed to pause upon the in- 
telligence in order to form some internal resolution. 

The next day Miss Bertram took an opportunity of con- 
versing with Mr. Sampson. Expressing in the kindest man- 
ner her grateful thanks for his disinterested attachment, and 
her joy that he had got such a provision, she hinted to him 
that his present mode of superintending Charles Hazlewood’s 
studies must be so inconvenient to his pupil that, while that 
engagement lasted, he had better consent to a temporary 

104 


GUY MANNERING 


separation, and reside either with his scholar or as near him 
as might be. Sampson refused, as indeed she had expected, 
to listen a moment to this proposition ; he would not quit her 
to be made preceptor to the Prince of Wales. 'But I see,’ 
he added, 'you are too proud to share my pittance; and per- 
, adventure I grow wearisome unto you.’ 

'No indeed; you are my father’s ancient, almost his only, 
I friend. I am not proud ; God knows, I have no reason to be 
i so. You shall do what you judge best in other matters; but 
oblige me by telling Mr. Charles Hazlewood that you had 
I some conversation with me concerning his studies, and that 
I I was of opinion that his carrying them on in this house was 
i altogether impracticable, and not to be thought of.’ 

Dominie Sampson left her presence altogether crestfallen, 
and, as he shut the door, could not help muttering the 
'varium et mutahile' of Virgil. Next day he appeared with 
a very rueful visage, and tendered Miss Bertram a letter. 
'Mr. Hazlewood,’ he said, 'was to discontinue his lessons, 
though he had generously made up the pecuniary loss. But 
how will he make up the loss to himself of the knowledge 
he might have acquired under my instruction? Even in that 
one article of writing, — he was an hour before he could write 
that brief note, and destroyed many scrolls, four quills, and 
some good white paper. I would have taught him in three 
weeks a firm, current, clear, and legible hand ; he should have 
been a calligrapher, — but God’s will be done.’ 

The letter contained but a few lines, deeply regretting and 
murmuring against Miss Bertram’s cruelty, who not only 
refused to see him, but to permit him in the most indirect 
manner to hear of her health and contribute to her service. 
But it concluded with assurances that her severity was vain, 
and that nothing could shake the attachment of Charles 
Hazlewood. 

Under the active patronage of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, Samp- 
son picked up some other scholars — very different indeed 
from Charles Hazlewood in rank, and whose lessons were 
proportionally unproductive. Still, however, he gained some- 
thing, and it was the glory of his heart to carry it to Mr. 
Mac-Morlan weekly, a slight peculium only substracted to 
supply his snuff-box and tobacco-pouch. 

105 


GUY MANNERING 


And here we must leave Kippletringan to look after our 
hero, lest our readers fear they are to lose sight of him for 
another quarter of a century. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Our Polly is a sad slut, nor heeds what we have taught herj 
I wonder any man alive will ever rear a daughter ; 

For when she’s drest with care and cost, all tempting, fine, and gay. 
As men should serve a cucumber, she flings, herself away. 


Beggar’s Opera. 


FTER the death of Mr. Bertram, Mannering had set 



rs. out upon a short tour, proposing to return to the 
neighbourhood of Ellangowan before the sale of that prop- 
erty should take place. He went, accordingly, to Edinburgh 
and elsewhere, and it was in his return towards the south- 
western district of Scotland, in which our scene lies, at a 
post-town about a hundred miles from Kippletringan, to 
which he had requested his friend, Mr. Mervyn, to address 
his letters, he received one from that gentleman which con- 
tained rather unpleasing intelligence. We have assumed al- 
ready the privilege of acting a secretis to this gentleman, and 
therefore shall present the reader with an extract from this 


epistle. 


T beg your pardon, my dearest friend, for the pain I have 
given you in forcing you to open wounds so festering as 
those your letter referred to. I have always heard, though 
erroneously perhaps, that the attentions of Mr. Brown were 
intended for Miss Mannering. But, however that were, it 
could not be supposed that in your situation his boldness 
should escape notice and chastisement. Wise men say that 
we resign to civil society our natural rights of self-defence 
only on condition that the ordinances of law should protect 
us. Where the price cannot be paid, the resignation becomes 
void. For instance, no one supposes that I am not entitled 
to defend my purse and person against a highwayman, as 
much as if I were a wild Indian, who owns neither law nor 


io6 


GUY MANNERING 

magistracy. The question of resistance or submission must 
be determined by means and situation. But if, armed and 
equal in force, I submit to injustice and violence from any 
man, high or low, I presume it will hardly be attributed to 
religious or moral feeling in me, or in any one but a Quaker. 
An aggression on my honour seems to me much the same. 
The result, however trifling in itself, is one of much deeper 
consequence to all views in life than any wrong which can 
be inflicted by a depredator on the highway, and to redress 
the injured parts is much less in the power of public juris- 
prudence, or rather it is entirely beyond its reach. If any 
man chooses to rob Arthur Mervyn of the contents of his 
purse, supposing the said Arthur has not means of defence, 
or the skill and courage to use them, the assizes at Lancaster 
or Carlisle will do him justice by touching up the robber; 
yet who will say I am bound to wait for this justice, and sub- 
mit to being plundered in the first instance, if I have myself 
the means and spirit to protect my own property But if an 
affront is offered to me, submission under which is to tarnish 
my character for ever with men of honour, and for which 
the twelve judges of England, with the chancellor to boot, 
can afford me no redress, by what rule of law or reason am 
I to be deterred from protecting what ought to be, and is, 
so infinitely dearer to every man of honour than his whole 
fortune? Of the religious views of the matter I shall say 
nothing, until I find a reverend divine who shall condemn 
self-defence in the article of life and property. If its pro- 
priety in that case be generally admitted, I suppose little dis- 
tinction can be drawn between defence of person and goods 
and protection of reputation. That the latter is liable to be 
assailed by persons of a different rank in life, untainted per- 
haps in morals, and fair in character, cannot affect my legal 
right of self-defence. I may be sorry that circumstances 
have engaged me in personal strife with such an individual; 
but I should feel the same sorrow for a generous enemy who 
fell under my sword in a national quarrel. I shall leave the 
question with the casuists, however ; only observing, that 
what I have written will not avail either the professed duel- 
list or him who is the aggressor in a dispute of honour. I 
only presume to exculpate him who is dragged into the field 

107 


GUY MANNERING 


by such an offence as, submitted to in patience, would forfeit 
for ever his rank and estimation in society. 

‘I am sorry you have thoughts of settling in Scotland, and 
yet glad that you will still be at no immeasurable distance, 
and that the latitude is all in our favour. To move to West- 
moreland from Devonshire might make an East-Indian shud- 
der; but to come to us from Galloway or Dumfries-shire is 
a step, though a short one, nearer the sun. Besides, if, as 
I suspect, the estate in view be connected with the old 
haunted castle in which you played the astrologer in your 
northern tour some twenty years since, I have heard you 
too often describe the scene with comic unction to hope you 
will be deterred from making the purchase. I trust, how- 
ever, the hospitable gossiping Laird has not run himself upon 
the shallows, and that his chaplain, whom you so often made 
us laugh at, is still in rerum natura. 

‘And here, dear Mannering, I wish I could stop, for I have 
incredible pain in telling the rest of my story ; although I am 
sure I can warn you against any intentional impropriety on 
the part of my temporary ward, Julia Mannering. But I 
must still earn my college nickname of Downright Dunstable. 
In one word, then, here is the matter. 

‘Your daughter has much of the romantic turn of your 
disposition, with a little of that love of admiration which all 
pretty women share less or more. She will besides, appar- 
ently be your heiress; a trifling circumstance to those who 
view Julia with my eyes, but a prevailing bait to the spe- 
cious, artful, and worthless. You know how I have jested 
with her about her soft melancholy, and lonely walks at 
morning before any one is up, and in the moonlight when all 
should be gone to bed, or set down to cards, which is the 
same thing. The incident which follows may not be beyond 
the bounds of a joke, but I had rather the jest upon it came 
from you than me. 

‘Two or three times during the last fortnight I heard, at 
a late hour in the night or very early in the morning, a 
flageolet play the little Hindu tune to which your daughter is 
so partial. I thought for some time that some tuneful do- 
mestic, whose taste for music was laid under constraint dur- 
ing the day, chose that silent hour to imitate the strains which 

io8 



Julia Mannering' 



























GUY MANNERING 


f he had caught up by the ear during his attendance in the 
drawing-room. But last night I sat late in my study, which 
^ is immediately under Miss Mannering’s apartment, and to 
Ij my surprise I not only heard the flageolet distinctly, but satis- 
fied myself that it came from the lake under the window. 
Curious to know who serenaded us at that unusual hour, I 
f stole softly to the window of my apartment. But there were 
i other watchers than me. You may remember. Miss Man- 
nering preferred that apartment on account of a balcony 
which opened -from her window upon the lake. Well, sir, I 
heard the sash of her window thrown up, the shutters opened, 
and her own voice in conversation with some person who an- 
swered from below. This is not ‘'Much ado about nothing” ; 
I could not be mistaken in her voice, and such tones, so soft, 
so insinuating ; and, to say the truth, the accents from below 
were in passion’s tenderest cadence too, — but of the sense I can 
say nothing. I raised the sash of my own window that I might 
hear something more than the mere murmur of this Spanish 
rendezvous; but, though I used every precaution, the noise 
alarmed the speakers ; down slid the young lady’s casement, 
and the shutters were barred in an instant. The dash of a 
pair of oars in the water announced the retreat of the male 
person of the dialogue. Indeed, I saw his boat, which he 
rowed with great swiftness and dexterity, fly across the lake 
like a twelve-oared barge. Next morning I examined some 
of my domestics, as if by accident, and I found the game- 
keeper, when making his rounds, had twice seen that boat 
beneath the house, with a single person, and had heard the 
flageolet. I did not care to press any farther questions, for 
fear of implicating Julia in the opinions of those of whom 
they might be asked. Next morning, at breakfast, I dropped 
a casual hint about the serenade of the evening before, and 
I promise you Miss Mannering looked red and pale alter- 
nately. I immediately gave the circumstances such a turn as 
might lead her to suppose that my observation was merely 
casual. I have since caused a watch-light to be burnt m my 
library, and have left the shutters open, to deter the ap- 
proach of our nocturnal guest ; and I have stated the severity 
of approaching winter, and the rawness of the fogs, as an 
objection to solitary walks. Miss Mannering acquiesced with 

109 


GUY MANNERING 


a passiveness which is no part of her character, and which, 
to tell you the plain truth, is a feature about the business 
which I like least of all. Julia has too much of her own dear 
papa’s disposition to be curbed in any of her humours, were 
there not some little lurking consciousness that it may be as 
prudent to avoid debate. 

‘Now my story is told, and you will judge what you ought 
to do. I have not mentioned the matter to my good woman, 
who, a faithful secretary to her sex’s foibles, would certainly 
remonstrate against your being made acquainted with these 
particulars, and might, instead, take it into her head to ex- 
ercise her own eloquence on Miss Mannering ; a faculty 
which, however powerful when directed against me, its legiti- 
mate object, might, I fear, do more harm than good in the 
case supposed. Perhaps even you yourself will find it most 
prudent to act without remonstrating, or appearing to be 
aware of this little anecdote. Julia is very like a certain 
friend of mine; she has a quick and lively imagination, and 
keen feelings, which are apt to exaggerate both the good and 
evil they find in life. She is a charming girl, however, as 
generous and spirited as she is lovely. I paid her the kiss 
you sent her with all my heart, and she rapped my fingers 
for my reward with all hers. Pray return as soon as you can. 
Meanwhile rely upon the care of, yours faithfully, 

‘Arthur Mervyn. 

‘P.S. — You will naturally wish to know if I have the least 
guess concerning the person of the serenader. In truth, I 
have none. There is no young gentleman of these parts, Who 
might be in rank or fortune a match for Miss Julia, that I 
think at all likely to play such a character. But on the other 
side of the lake, nearly opposite to Mervyn Hall, is a d — d 
cake-house, the resort of walking gentlemen of all descrip- 
tions — poets, players, painters, musicians — who come to rave, 
and recite, and madden about this picturesque land of ours. 
It is paying some penalty for its beauties, that they are the 
means of drawing this swarm of coxcombs together. But 
were Julia my daughter, it is one of those sort of fellows 
that I should fear on her account. She is generous and ro- 
mantic, and writes six sheets a-week to a female correspond- 

IIO 


GUY MANNERING 


j ent; and it’s a sad thing to lack a subject in such a case, 

( either for exercise of the feelings or of the pen. Adieu, once 
, more. Were I to treat this matter more seriously than I have 
Cf done, I should do injustice to your feelings; were I alto- 
L gether to overlook it, I should discredit my own.’ 

The consequence of this letter was, that, having first de- 
[ spatched the faithless messenger with the necessary powers to 
I Mr. Mac-Morlan for purchasing the estate of Ellangowan,. 
Colonel Mannering turned his horse’s head in a more south- 
erly direction, and neither ‘stinted nor staid’ until he arrived 
at the mansion of his friend Mr. Mervyn, upon the banks of 
one of the lakes of Westmoreland. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Heaven first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters. 
For ladies in limbo, and lovers in fetters. 

Or some author, who, placing his persons before ye, 
Ungallantly leaves them to write their own story. 


Pope, imitaved. 



HEN Mannering returned to England, his first object 


▼ V had been to place his daughter in a seminary for 
female education of established character. Not, however, 
finding her progress in the accomplishments which he wished 
her to acquire so rapid as his impatience expected, he had 
withdrawn Miss Mannering from the school at the end of 
the first quarter. So she had only time to form an eternal 
friendship with Miss Matilda Marchmont, a young lady 
about her own age, which was nearly eighteen. To her faith- 
ful eye were addressed those formidable quires which issued 
forth from Mervyn Hall on the wings of the post while Miss 
Mannering was a guest there. The perusal of a few short 
extracts from these may be necessary to render our story 
intelligible. 


First Extract. 


‘Alas ! my dearest Matilda, what a tale is mine to tell ! Mis- 
fortune from the cradle has set her seal upon your unhappy 


III 


GUY MANNERING 




friend. That we should be severed for so slight a cause — an ^ 
ungrammatical phrase in my Italian exercise, and three false 
notes in one of Paisiello’s sonatas! But it is a part of my 
father’s character, of whom it is impossible to say whether 
I love, admire, or fear him the most. His success in life and .i 
in war, his habit of making every obstacle yield before the > 
energy of his exertions, even where they seemed insurmount- 
able — all these have given a hasty and peremptory cast 1:o his ' 
character, which can neither endure contradiction nor make • 
allowance for deficiencies. Then he is himself so very ac- 
complished. Do you know, there was a murmur, half con- 
firmed too by some mysterious words which dropped from 
my poor mother, that he possesses other sciences, now lost to 
the world, which enable the possessor to summon up before 
him the dark and shadowy forms of future events ! Does 
not the very idea of such a power, or even of the high talent 
and commanding intellect which the world may mistake for 
it, — does it not, dear Matilda, throw a mysterious grandeur 
about its possessor? You will call this romantic; but con- 
sider I was born in the land of talisman and spell, and my 
childhood lulled by tales which you can only enjoy through 
the gauzy frippery of a French translation. O, Matilda, I 
wish you could have seen the dusky visages of my Indian at- 
tendants, bending in earnest devotion round , the rnagic narra- 
tive, that flowed, half poetry, half prose, from the lips of the 
tale-teller! No wonder that European fiction sounds cold 
and meagre, after the wonderful effects which I have seen 
the romances of the East produce upon their hearers.’ 

Second Extract. 

'You are possessed, my dear Matilda, of my bosom-secret, 
in those sentiments with which I regard Brown. I will not 
say his memory; I am convinced he lives, and is faithful. 
His addresses to me were countenanced by my deceased par- 
ent, imprudently countenanced perhaps, considering the prej- 
udices of my father in favour of birth and rank. But I, then 
almost a girl, could not be expected surely to be wiser than 
her under whose charge nature had placed me. My father, 
constantly engaged in military duty, I saw but at rare inter- 
vals, and was taught to look up to him with more awe than 

112 




GUY MANNERING 


confidence. Would to Heaven it had been otherwise! It 
might have been better for us all at this day !' 

Third Extract. 

‘You ask me why I do not make known to my father that 
Brown yet lives, at least that he survived the wound he re- 
ceived in that unhappy duel, and had written to my mother 
expressing his entire convalescence, and his hope of speedily 
escaping from captivity. A soldier, that “in the trade of war 
has oft slain men,” feels probably no uneasiness at reflecting 
upon the supposed catastrophe which almost turned me into 
stone. And should I show him that letter, does it not follow 
that Brown, alive and maintaining with pertinacity the pre- 
tensions to the affections of your poor friend for which my 
father formerly sought his life, would be a more formidable 
disturber of Colonel Mannering’s peace of mind than in his 
supposed grave? If he escapes from the hands of these ma- 
rauders, I am convinced he will soon be in England, and it 
will be then time to consider how his existence is to be dis- 
closed to my father. But if, alas I my earnest and confi- 
dent hope should betray me, what would it avail to tear open 
a mystery fraught with so many painful recollections? My 
dear mother had such dread of its being known, that I think 
she even suffered my father to suspect that Brown’s atten- 
tions were directed towards herself, rather than permit him 
to discover their real object; and O, Matilda, whatever re- 
spect I owe to the memory of a deceased parent, let me do 
justice to a living one. I cannot but condemn the dubious 
policy which she adopted, as unjust to my father, and highly 
perilous to herself and me. But peace be with her ashes 1 her 
actions were guided by the heart rather than the head; and 
shall her daughter, who inherits all her weakness, be the first 
to withdraw the veil from her defects?’ 

Fourth Extract. 

^Mervyn Hall. 

Tf India be the land of magic, this, my dearest Matilda, is 
the country of romance. The scenery is such as nature 
brings together in her sublimest moods — sounding cataracts 
— hills which rear their scathed heads to the sky — lakes that, 
8 113 


GUY MANNERING 


winding up the shadowy valleys, lead at every turn to yet 
more romantic recesses — rocks which catch the clouds of 
heaven. All the wildness of Salvator here, and there the 
fairy scenes of Claude. I am happy too in finding at least 
one object upon which my father can share my enthusiasm. 
An admirer of nature, both as an artist and a poet, I have 
experienced the utmost pleasure from the observations by 
which he explains the character and the effect of these bril- 
liant specimens of her power. I wish he would settle in this 
enchanting land. But his views lie still farther north, and he 
is at present absent on a tour in Scotland, looking, I believe, 
for some purchase of land which may suit him as a resi- 
dence. He is partial, from early recollections, to that coun- 
try. So, my dearest Matilda, I must be yet farther removed 
from you before I am established in a home. And O how 
delighted shall I be when 1 can say, Come, Matilda, and be 
the guest of your faithful Julia! 

am at present the inmate of Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn, old 
friends of my father. The latter is precisely a good sort of 
woman, ladylike and housewifely; but for accomplishments 
or fancy — good lack, my dearest Matilda, your friend might 
as well seek sympathy from Mrs. Teach’em; — you see I have 
not forgot school nicknames. Mervyn is a different — quite 
a different being from my father, yet he amuses and endures 
me. He is fat and good-natured, gifted with strong shrewd 
sense and some powers of humour; but having been hand- 
some, I suppose, in his youth, has still some pretension to be 
a heau garcon, as well as an enthusiastic agriculturist. I de- 
light to make him scramble to the tops of eminences and to 
the foot of waterfalls, and am obliged in turn to admire his 
turnips, his lucerne, and his timothy grass. He thinks me, I 
fancy, a simple romantic Miss, with some — the word will be 
out — beauty and some good-nature; and I hold that the gen- 
tleman has good taste for the female outside, and do not ex- 
pect he should comprehend my sentiments farther. So he 
rallies, hands, and hobbles ( for the dear creature has got the 
gout too), and tells old stories of high life, of which he has 
seen a great deal ; and I listen, and smile, and look as pretty, 
as pleasant, and as simple as I can, and we do very well. 

‘But, alas ! my dearest Matilda, how would time pass away, 
114 


GUYi MANNERING 


even in this paradise of romance, tenanted as it is by a pair 
assorting so ill with the scenes around them, were it not for 
your fidelity in replying to my uninteresting (^tails? Pray 
do not fail to write three times a-week at least ; you can be at 
no loss what to say/ 

Fifth Extract. 

‘How shall I communicate what I have now to tell! My 
hand and heart still flutter so much, that the task of writing 
is almost impossible ! Did I not say that he lived ? did I not 
say I would not despair? How could you suggest, my dear 
Matilda, that my feelings, considering I had parted from him 
so young, rather arose from the warmth of my imagination 
than of my heart ? O I was sure that they were genuine, de- 
ceitful as the dictates of our bosom so frequently are. But 
to my tale — let it be, my friend, the most sacred, as it is the 
most sincere, pledge of our friendship. 

‘Our hours here are early — earlier than my heart, with its 
load of care, can compose itself to rest. I therefore usually 
take a book for an hour or two after retiring to my own 
room, which I think I have told you opens to a small balcony, 
looking down upon that beautiful lake of which I attempted 
to give you a slight sketch. Mervyn Hall, being partly an 
ancient building, and constructed with a view to defence, is 
situated on the verge of the lake. A stone dropped from the 
prejecting balcony plunges into water deep enough to float a 
skiff. I had left my window partly unbarred, that, before I 
went to bed, I might, according to my custom, look out and 
see the moonlight shining upon the lake. I was deeply en- 
gaged with that beautiful scene in the “Merchant of Venice” 
where two lovers, describing the stillness of a summer night, 
enhance on each other its charms, and was lost in the asso- 
ciations of story and of feeling which it wakens, when I heard 
upon the lake the sound of a flageolet. I have told you it 
was Brown’s favourite instrument. Who could touch it in a 
night which, though still and serene, was too cold, and too 
late in the year, to invite forth any wanderer for mere pleas- 
ure? I drew yet nearer the window, and hearkened with 
breathless attention; the sounds paused a space, were then 
resumed, paused again, and again reached my ear, ever com- 

115 


GUY MANNERING 


ing nearer and nearer. At length I distinguished plainly 
that little Hindu air which you called my favourite. I have 
told you by whom it was taught me; the instrument, the 
tones, were his own ! Was it earthly music, or notes passing 
on the wind, to warn me of his death? 

‘It was some time ere I could summon courage to step on 
the balcony ; nothing could have emboldened me to do so but 
the strong conviction of my mind that he was still alive, and 
that we should again meet ; but that conviction did embolden 
me, and I ventured, though with a throbbing heart. There 
was a small skiff with a single person. O, Matilda, it was 
himself! I knew his appearance after so long an absence, 
and through the shadow of the night, as perfectly as if we 
had parted yesterday, and met again in the broad sunshine! 
He guided his boat under the balcony, and spoke to me; I 
hardly knew what he said, or what I replied. Indeed, I 
could scarcely speak for weeping, but they were joyful tears. 
We were disturbed by the barking of a dog at some distance, 
and parted, but not before he had conjured me to prepare to 
meet him at the same place and hour this evening. 

‘But where and to what is all this tending? Can I answer 
this question ? I cannot. Heaven, that saved him from 
death and delivered him from captivity, that saved my father, 
too, from shedding the blood of one who would not have 
blemished a hair of his head, that Heaven must guide me out 
of this labyrinth. Enough for me the firm resolution that 
Matilda shall not blush for her friend, my father for his 
daughter, nor my lover for her on whom he has fixed his 
affection.’ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Talk with a man out of a window ! — a proper saying. 

Much Ado about Nothing. 


E must proceed with our extracts from Miss Manner- 



vv ing’s letters, which throw light upon natural good 
sense, principle, and feelings, blemished by an imperfect edu- 
cation and the folly of a misjudging mother, who called her 


Ii6 


guy; mannering 


husband in her heart a tyrant until she feared him as such, 
and read romances until she became so enamoured of the 
complicated intrigues which they contain as to assume.' the 
management of a little family novel of her own, and consti- 
tute her daughter, a girl of sixteen, the principal heroine. 
She delighted in petty mystery and intrigue and secrets, and 
yet trembled at the indignation which these paltry manoeu- 
vres excited in her husband’s mind. Thus she frequently en- 
tered upon a scheme merely for pleasure, or perhaps for the 
love of contradiction, plunged deeper into it than she was 
aware, endeavoured to extricate herself by new arts, or to 
cover her error by dissimulation, became involved in meshes 
of her own weaving, and was forced to carry on, for fear of 
discovery, machinations which she had at first resorted to in 
mere wantonness. 

Fortunately the young man whom she so imprudently in- 
troduced into her intimate society, and encouraged to look 
up to her daughter, had a fund of principle and honest pride 
which rendered him a safer intimate than Mrs. Mannering 
ought to have dared to hope or expect. The obscurity of his 
birth could alone be objected to him; in every other respect. 

With prospects bright upon the world he came, 

Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame; 

Men watched the way his lofty mind would take. 

And all foretold the .progress he would make. 

But it could not be expected that he should resist the snare 
which Mrs. Mannering’s imprudence threw in his way, or 
avoid becoming attached to a young lady whose beauty and 
manners might have justified his passion, even in scenes 
where these are more generally met with than in a remote 
fortress in our Indian settlements. The scenes which fol- 
lowed have been partly detailed in Mannering’s letter to Mr. 
Mervyn ; and to expand what is there stated into farther ex- 
planation would be to abuse the patience of our readers. 

We shall therefore proceed with our promised extracts 
from Miss Mannering’s letters to her friend. 

Sixth Extract. 

T have seen him again, Matilda — seen him twice. I have 
used every argument to convince him that this secret inter- 

117 


GUY MANNERING 


course is dangerous to us both ; I even pressed him to pursue 
his views of fortune without farther regard to me, and to 
consider my peace of mind as sufficiently secured by the 
knowledge that he had not fallen under my father’s sword. 
He answers — but how can I detail all he has to answer ? He 
claims those hopes as his due which my mother permitted 
him to entertain, and would persuade me to the madness of a 
union without my father’s sanction. But to this, Matilda, I 
will not be persuaded. I have resisted, I have subdued, the 
rebellious feelings which arose to aid his plea ; yet how to ex- 
tricate myself from this unhappy labyrinth in which fate and 
folly have entangled us both ! 

‘I have thought upon it, Matilda, till my head is almost 
giddy; nor can I conceive a better plan than to make a full 
confession to my father. He deserves it, for his kindness is 
unceasing; and I think I have observed in his character, 
since I have studied it more nearly, that his harsher feelings 
are chiefly excited where he suspects deceit or imposition; 
and in that respect, perhaps, his character was formerly mis- 
understood by one who was dear to him. He has, too, a 
tinge of romance in his disposition ; and I have seen the nar- 
rative of a generous action, a trait of heroism, or virtuous 
self-denial, extract tears from him which refused to flow at a 
tale of mere distress. But then Brown urges that he is per- 
sonally hostile to him. And the obscurity of his birth, that 
would be indeed a stumbling-block. O, Matilda, I hope 
none of your ancestors ever fought at Poictiers or Agincourt ! 
If it were not for the veneration which my father attaches to 
the memory of old Sir Miles Mannering, I should make out 
my explanation with half the tremor which must now at- 
tend it.’ 

Seventh Extract. 

‘I have this instant received your letter — ^your most wel- 
come letter! Thanks, my dearest friend, for your sympathy 
and your counsels; I can only repay them with unbounded 
confidence. 

‘You ask me what Brown is by origin, that his descent 
should be so unpleasing to my father. His story is shortly 
told. He is of Scottish extraction, but, being left an orphan, 

ii8 


GUY] MANNERING 


his education was undertaken by a family of relations settled 
in Holland. He was bred to commerce, and sent very early 
to one of our settlements in the East, where his guardian had 
a correspondent. But this correspondent was dead when he 
arrived in India, and he had no other resource than to offer 
himself as a clerk to a counting-house. The breaking out of 
the war, and the straits to which we were at first reduced, 
threw the army open to all young men who were disposed to 
embrace that mode of life; and Brown, whose genius had a 
strong military tendency, was the first to leave what might 
have been the road to wealth, and to choose that of fame. 
The rest of his history is well known to you ; but conceive the 
irritation of my father, who despises commerce (though, by 
the way, the best part of his property was made in that hon- 
ourable profession by my great-uncle), and has a particular 
antipathy to the Dutch — think with what ear he would be 
likely to receive proposals for his only child from Vanbeest 
Brown, educated for charity by the house of Vanbeest and 
Vanbruggen! O, Matilda, it will never do; nay, so childish 
am I, I hardly can help sympathising with his aristocratic 
feelings. Mrs. Vanbeest Brown! The name has little to 
recommend it, to be sure. What children we are!’ 

Eighth Extract. 

Tt is all over now, Matilda ! I shall never have courage to 
tell my father; nay, most deeply do I fear he has already 
learned my secret from another quarter, which will entirely 
remove the grace of my communication, and ruin whatever 
gleam of hope I had ventured to connect with it. Yester- 
night Brown came as usual, and his flageolet on the lake an- 
nounced his approach. We had agreed that he should con- 
tinue to use this signal. These romantic lakes attract num- 
erous visitors, who indulge their enthusiasm in visiting the 
scenery at all hours, and we hoped that, if Brown were no- 
ticed from the house, he might pass for one of those admirers 
of nature, who was giving vent to his feelings through the 
medium of music. The sounds might also be my apology, 
should I be observed on the balcony. But last night, while 
I was eagerly enforcing my plan of a full confession to my 
father, which he as earnestly deprecated, we heard the win- 

119 


GUY MANNERING 


dow of Mr. Mervyn's library, which is under my room, open 
softly. I signed to Brown to make his retreat, and immedi- 
ately re-entered, with some faint hopes that our interview 
had not been observed. 

'But, alas ! Matilda, these hopes vanished the instant I be- 
held Mr. Mervyn’s countenance at breakfast the next morn- 
ing. He looked so provokingly intelligent and confidential, 
that, had I dared, I could have been more angry than ever 
I was in my life; but I must be on good behaviour, and my 
walks are now limited within his farm precincts, where the 
good gentleman can amble along by my side without incon- 
venience. I have detected him once or twice attempting to 
sound my thoughts, and watch the expression of my counte- 
nance. He has talked of the flageolet more than once; and 
has, at different times, made eulogiums upon the watchful- 
ness and ferocity of his dogs, and the regularity with which 
the keeper makes his rounds with a loaded fowling-piece. 
He mentioned even man-traps and spring-guns. I should be 
loth to affront my father’s old friend in his own house; but 
I do long to show him that I am my father’s daughter, a fact 
of which Mr. Mervyn will certainly be convinced if ever I 
trust my voice and temper with a reply to these indirect hints. 
Of one thing I am certain — I am grateful to him on that 
account — he has not told Mrs. Mervyn. Lord help me, I 
should have had such lectures about the dangers of love and 
the night air on the lake, the risk arising from colds and 
fortune-hunters, the comfort and convenience of sack-whey 
and closed windows ! I cannot help trifling, Matilda, though 
my heart is sad enough. What Brown will do I cannot 
guess. I presume, however, the fear of detection prevents 
his resuming his nocturnal visits. He lodges at an inn on the 
opposite shore of the lake, under the name, he tells me, of 
Dawson ; he has a bad choice in names, that must be allowed. 
He has not left the army, I believe, but he says nothing of his 
present views. 

'To complete my anxiety, my father is returned suddenly, 
and in high displeasure. Our good hostess, as I learned 
from a bustling conversation between her housekeeper and 
her, had no expectation of seeing him for a week; but I 
rather suspect his arrival was no surprise to his friend Mr. 

120 


GUY MANNERING 


Mervyn. His manner to me was singularly cold and con- 
strained, sufficiently so to have damped all the courage with 
which I once resolved to throw myself on his generosity. 
He lays the blame of his being discomposed and out of hu- 
mour to the loss of a purchase in the south-west of Scotland 
on which he had set his heart ; but I do not suspect his equa- 
nimity of being so easily thrown off its balance. His first 
excursion was with Mr. Mervyn’s barge across the lake to 
the inn I have mentioned. You may imagine the agony with 
which I waited his return ! Had he recognised Brown, who 
can guess the consequence! He returned, however, appar- 
ently without having made any discovery. I understand 
that, in consequence of his late disappointment, he means now 
to hire a house in the neighbourhood of this same Ellan- 
gowan, of which I am doomed to hear so much ; he seems to 
think it probable that the estate for which he wishes may soon 
be again in the market. I will not send away this letter until 
I hear more distinctly what are his intentions.’ 


‘I have now had an interview with my father, as confiden- 
tial as, I presume, he means to allow me. He requested me 
to-day, after breakfast, to walk with him into the library ; my 
knees, Matilda, shook under me, and it is no exaggeration to 
say I could scarce follow him into the room. I feared I knew 
not what. From my childhood I had seen all around him 
tremble at his frown. He motioned me to seat myself, and I 
never obeyed a command so readily, for, in truth, I could 
hardly stand. He himself continued to walk up and down 
the room. You have seen my father, and noticed, I recollect, 
the remarkably expressive cast of his features. His eyes are 
naturally rather light in colour, but agitation or anger gives 
them a darker and more fiery glance; he has a custom also 
of drawing in his lips when much moved, which implies a 
combat between native ardour of temper and the habitual 
power of self-command. This was the first time we had 
been alone since his return from Scotland, and, as he betrayed 
these tokens of agitation, I had little doubt that he was about 
to enter upon the subject I most dreaded. 

'To my unutterable relief, I found I was mistaken, and 
that, whatever he knew of Mr. Mervyn’s suspicions or dis- 

I2I 


GUY MANNERING 


coveries, he did not intend to converse with me on the topic. 
Coward as I was, I was inexpressibly relieved, though, if he 
had really investigated the reports which may have come to 
his ear, the reality could have been nothing to what his sus- 
picions might have conceived. But, though my spirits rose 
high at my unexpected escape, I had not courage myself to 
provoke the discussion, and remained silent to receive his 
commands. 

‘ '‘Julia,” he said, “my agent writes me from Scotland that 
he has been able to hire a house for me, decently furnished, 
and with the necessary accommodation for my family; it is 
within three miles of that I had designed to purchase.” Then 
he made a pause, and seemed to expect an answer. 

‘ “Whatever place of residence suits you, sir, must be per- 
fectly agreeable to me.” 

‘ “Umph ! I do not propose, however, Julia, that you shall 
reside quite alone in this house during the winter.” 

‘ “Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn,” thought I to myself — “What- 
ever company is agreeable to you, sir,” I answered aloud. 

‘ “O, there is a little too much of this universal spirit of 
submission, an excellent disposition in action, but your con- 
stantly repeating the jargon of it puts me in mind of the eter- 
nal salams of our black dependents in the East. In short, 
Julia, I know you have a relish for society, and I intend to 
invite a young person, the daughter of a deceased friend, to 
spend a few months with us.” 

‘ “Not a governess, for the love of Heaven, papa !” ex- 
claimed poor I, my fears at that moment totally getting the 
better of my prudence. 

‘ “No, not a governess. Miss Mannering,” replied the 
Colonel, somewhat sternly, “but a young lady from 
whose excellent example, bred as she has been in the 
school of adversity, I trust you ma3r* learn the art to govern 
yourself.” 

‘To answer this was trenching upon too dangerous ground, 
so there was a pause. 

‘ “Is the young lady a Scotchwoman, papa ?” 

‘ “Yes” — drily enough. 

‘ “Has she much of the accent, sir ?” 

‘“Much of the devil!” answered my father hastily; “do 
122 


GUY MANNERING 


you think I care about a’s and aa’s, and t’s and ee'sl I tell 
you, Julia, I am serious in the matter. You have a genius 
for friendship, that is, for running up intimacies which you 
call such.” (Was not this very harshly said, Matilda?) 
“Now I wish to give you an opportunity at least to make one 
deserving friend, and therefore I have resolved that this 
young lady shall be a member of my family for some months, 
and I expect you will pay to her that attention which is due 
to misfortune and virtue.” 

‘ “Certainly, sir. Is my future friend red-haired ?” 

'He gave me one of his stern glances; you will say, per- 
haps, I deserved it; but I think the deuce prompts me with 
teasing questions on some occasions. 

' “She is as superior to you, my love, in personal appear- 
ance as in prudence and affection for her friends.” 

' “Lord, papa, do you think that superiority a recommen- 
dation? Well, sir, but I see you are going to take all this too 
seriously ; whatever the young lady may be, I am sure, being 
recommended by you, she shall have no reason to complain of 
my want of attention.” After a peruse — “Has she any at- 
tendant? because you know I must provide for her proper 
accommodation if she is without one.” 

' “N — no — no, not properly an attendant ; the chaplain who 
lived with her father is a very good sort of man, and I believe 
I shall make room for him in the house.” 

' “Chaplain, papa ? Lord bless us !” 

' “Yes, Miss Mannering, chaplain ; is there anything very 
new in that word? Had we not a chaplain at the Residence, 
when we were in India?” 

' “Yes, papa, but you were a commandant then.” 

' “So I win be now. Miss Mannering, in my own family at 
least.” 

' “Certainly, sir. But will he read us the Church of Eng- 
land service?” 

‘The apparent simplicity with which I asked this question 
got the better of his gravity. “Come, Julia,” he said, “you 
are a sad girl, but I gain nothing by scolding you. Of these 
two strangers, the young lady is one whom you cannot fail, I 
think, to love ; the person whom, for want of a better term, I 
called chaplain, is a very worthy, and somewhat ridiculous 

123 


GUY MANNERING 


personage, who will never find out you laugh at him if you 
don’t laugh very loud indeed.” 

‘ “Dear papa, I am delighted with that part of his charac- 
ter. But pray, is the house we are going to as pleasantly sit- 
uated as this?” 

'“Not perhaps as much to your taste; there is no lake 
under the windows, and you will be under the necessity of 
having all your music within doors.” 

‘This last coup de main ended the keen encounter of our 
wits, for you may believe, Matilda, it quelled all my courage 
to reply. 

‘Yet my spirits, as perhaps will appear too manifest from 
this dialogue, have risen insensibly, and, as it were, in spite 
of myself. Brown alive, and free, and in England! Em- 
barrassment and anxiety I can and must endure. We leave 
this in two days for our new residence. I shall not fail to 
let you know what I think of these Scotch inmates, whom I 
have but too much reason to believe my father means to quar- 
ter in his house as a brace of honourable spies ; a sort of fe- 
male Rozencrantz and reverend Guildenstern, one in tartan 
petticoats, the other in a cassock. What a contrast to the 
society I would willingly have secured to myself! I shall 
write instantly on my arriving at our new place of abode, and 
acquaint my dearest Matilda with the farther fates of — her 


‘Julia Mannering.^ 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Which sloping hills around inclose, 

Where many a beech and brown oak grows, 
Beneath whose dark and branching bowers. 
Its tides a far-fam’d river pours, 

By nature’s beauties taught to please. 
Sweet Tusculan of rural ease! 


Warton. 



OODBOURNE, the habitation which Mannering, by 


T V Mr. MacMorlan’s mediation, had hired for a season, 
was a large, comfortable mansion, snugly situated beneath 
a hill covered with wood, which shrouded the house upon the 


124 


GUY MANNERING 


north and east; the front looked upon a little lawn bordered 
by a grove of old trees ; beyond were some arable fields, ex- 
tending down to the river, which was seen from the windows 
of the house. A tolerable, though old-fashioned garden, a 
well-stocked dove-cot, and the possession of any quantity of 
ground which the convenience of the family might require, 
rendered the place in every respect suitable, as the advertise- 
ments have it, ‘for the accommodation of a genteel family.’ 

Here, then, Mannering resolved, for some time at least, to 
set up the staff of his rest. Though an East-Indian, he was 
not partial to an ostentatious display of wealth. In fact, he 
was too proud a man to be a vain one. He resolved, there- 
fore, to place himself upon the footing of a country gentle- 
man of easy fortune, without assuming, or permitting his 
household to assume, any of the faste which then was con- 
sidered as characteristic of a nabob. 

He had still his eye upon the purchase of Ellangowan, 
which Mac-Morlan conceived Mr. Glossin would be com- 
pelled to part with, as some of the creditors disputed his title 
to retain so large a part of the purchase-money in his own 
hands, and his power to pay it was much questioned. In 
that case Mac-Morlan was assured he would readily give up 
his bargain, if tempted with something above the price which 
he had stipulated to pay. It may seem strange that Man- 
nering was so much attached to a spot which he had only 
seen once, and that for a short time, in early life. But the 
circumstances which passed there had laid a strong hold on 
his imagination. There seemed to be a fate which conjoined 
the remarkable passages of his own family history with those 
of the inhabitants of Ellangowan, and he felt a mysterious 
desire to call the terrace his own from which he had read in 
the book of heaven a fortune strangely accomplished in the 
person of the infant heir of that family, and corresponding 
so closely with one which had been strikingly fulfilled in his 
own. Besides, when once this thought had got possession of 
his imagination, he could not, without great reluctance, brook 
the idea of his plan being defeated, and by a fellow like Glos- 
sin. So pride came to the aid of fancy, and both combined 
to fortify his resolution to buy the estate if possible. 

Let us do Mannering justice. A desire to serve the dis- 

125 


GUY MANNERING 


tressed had also its share in determining him. He had con- 
sidered the advantage which Julia might receive from the 
company of Lucy Bertram, whose genuine prudence and good 
sense could so surely be relied upon. This idea had become 
much stronger since Mac-Morlan had confided to him, under 
the solemn seal of secrecy, the whole of her conduct towards 
young Hazlewood. To propose to her to become an inmate 
in his family, if distant from the scenes of her youth and the 
few whom she called friei^ds, would have been less delicate; 
but at Woodbourne she might without difficulty be induced 
to become the visitor of a season, without being depressed 
into the situation of an humble companion. Lucy Bertram, 
with some hesitation, accepted the invitation to reside a few 
weeks with Miss Mannering. She felt too well that, how- 
ever the Colonel’s delicacy might disguise the truth, his prin- 
cipal motive was a generous desire to afford her his counte- 
nance and protection, which his high connexions, and higher 
character, were likely to render influential in the neighbour- 
hood. 

About the same time the orphan girl received a letter from’ 
Mrs. Bertram, the relation to whom she had written, as cold 
and comfortless as could well be imagined. It inclosed, in- 
deed, a small sum of money, but strongly recommended econ- 
omy, and that Miss Bertram should board herself in some 
quiet family, either at Kippletringan or in the neighbour- 
hood, assuring her that, though her own income was very 
scanty, she would not see her kinswoman want. Miss Ber- 
tram shed some natural tears over this cold-hearted epistle; 
for in her mother’s time this good lady had been a guest at 
Ellangowan for nearly three years, and it was only upon suc- 
ceeding to a property of about £400 a-year that she had 
taken farewell of that hospitable mansion, which otherwise 
might have had the honour of sheltering her until the death 
of its owner. Lucy was strongly inclined to return the pal- 
try donation, which, after some struggles with avarice, pride 
had extorted from the old lady. But on consideration she 
contented herself with writing that she accepted it as a loan, 
which she hoped in a short time to repay, and consulted her 
relative upon the invitation she had received from Colonel 
and Miss Mannering. This time the answer came in course 

126 


GUY MANNERING 


of post, so fearful was Mrs. Bertram that some frivolous 
delicacy, or nonsense, as she termed it, might induce her 
cousin to reject such a promising offer, and thereby at the 
same time to leave herself still a burden upon her relations. 
Lucy, therefore, had no alternative, unless she preferred con- 
tinuing a burden upon the worthy Mac-Morlans, who were 
too liberal to be rich. Those kinsfolk who formerly re- 
quested the favour of her company had of late either silently, 
or with expressions of resentment that she should have pre- 
ferred Mac-Morlan’s invitation to theirs, gradually with- 
drawn their notice. 

The fate of Dominie Sampson would have been deplorable 
had it depended upon any one except Mannering, who was an 
admirer of originality, for a separation from Lucy Bertram 
would have certainly broken his heart. Mac-Morlan had 
given a full account of his proceedings towards the daughter 
of his patron. The answer was a request from Mannering 
to know whether the Dominie still possessed that admirable 
virtue of taciturnity by which he was so notably distinguished 
at Ellangowan. Mac-Morlan replied in the affirmative. ‘Let 
Mr. Sampson know,' said the Colonel’s next letter, ‘that I 
shall want his assistance to catalogue and put in order the 
library of my uncle, the bishop, which I have ordered to be 
sent down by sea. I shall also want him to copy and arrange 
some papers. Fix his salary at what you think befitting. 
Let the poor man be properly dressed, and accompany his 
young lady to Woodbourne.’ 

Honest Mac-Morlan received this mandate with great joy, 
but pondered much upon executing that part of it which re- 
lated to newly attiring the worthy Dominie. He looked at 
him with a scrutinising eye, and it was but too plain that his 
present garments were daily waxing more deplorable. To 
give him money, and bid him go and furnish himself, would 
be only giving him the means of making himself ridiculous ; 
for when such a rare event arrived to Mr. Sampson as the 
purchase of new garments, the additions which he made to 
his wardrobe by the guidance of his own taste usually 
brought all the boys of the village after him for many days. 
On the other hand, to bring a tailor to measure him, and send 
home his clothes, as for a school-boy, would probably give 

127 


GUY MANNERING 


offence. At length Mac-Morlan resolved to consult Miss 
Bertram, and request her interference. She assured him 
that, though she could not pretend to superintend a gentle- 
man's wardrobe, nothing was more easy than to arrange the 
Dominie’s. 

‘At Ellangowan,’ she said, ‘whenever my poor father 
thought any part of the Dominie’s dress wanted renewal, a 
servant was directed to enter his room by night, for he sleeps 
as fast as a dormouse, carry off the old vestment, and leave 
the new one ; nor could any one observe that the Dominie ex- 
hibited the least consciousness of the change put upon him on 
such occasions.’ 

Mac-Morlan, in conformity with Miss Bertram’s advice, 
procured a skilful artist, who, on looking at the Dominie at- 
tentively, undertook to make for him two suits of clothes, one 
black and one raven-grey, and even engaged that they should 
fit him — as well at least (so the tailor qualified his enterprise) 
as a man of such an out-of-the-way build could be fitted by 
merely human needles and shears. When this fashioner had 
accomplished his task, and the dresses were brought home, 
Mac-Morlan, judiciously resolving to accomplish his purpose 
by degrees, withdrew that evening an important part of his 
dress, and substituted the new article of raiment in its stead. 
Perceiving that this passed totally without notice, he next 
ventured on the waistcoat, and lastly on the coat. When 
fully metamorphosed, and arrayed for the first time in his life 
in a decent dress, they did observe that the Dominie seemed 
to have some indistinct and embarrassing consciousness that 
a change had taken place on his outward man. Whenever 
they observed this dubious expression gather upon his coun- 
tenance, accompanied with a glance that fixed now upon the 
sleeve of his coat, now upon the knees of his breeches, where 
he probably missed some antique patching and darning, 
which, being executed with blue thread upon a black ground, 
had somewhat the effect of embroidery, they always took care 
to turn his attention into some other channel, until his gar- 
ments, ‘by the aid of use, cleaved to their mould.’ The only 
remark he was ever known to make on the subject was, that 
‘the air of a town like Kippletringan seemed favourable unto 
wearing apparel, for he thought his coat looked almost as 

128 


GUY MANNERING 


new as the first day he put it on, which was when he went to 
stand trial for his license as a preacher.’ 

When the Dominie first heard the liberal proposal of Col- 
onel Mannering, he turned a jealous and doubtful glance 
towards Miss Bertram, as if he suspected that the project in- 
volved their separation ; but when Mr. Mac-Morlan hastened 
to explain that she would be a guest at Woodbourne for some 
time, he rubbed his huge hands together, and burst into a 
portentous sort of chuckle, like that of the Afrite in the tale 
of The Caliph Vathek. After this unusual explosion of sat- 
isfaction, he remained quite passive in all the rest of the 
transaction. 

It had been settled that Mr. and Mrs. Mac-Morlan should 
take possession of the house a few days before Mannering’s 
arrival, both to put everything in perfect order and to make 
the transference of Miss Bertram’s residence from their 
family to his as easy and delicate as possible. Accordingly, 
in the beginning of the month of December the party were 
settled at Woodbourne. 


dHAPTER XX. 

A gigantic genius, fit to grapple with whole libraries. 

Boswell's Life of Johnson. 

T he appointed day arrived when the Colonel and Miss 
Mannering were expected at Woodbourne. The hour 
was fast approaching, and the little circle within doors had 
each their separate subjects of anxiety. Mac-Morlan natural- 
ly desired to attach to himself the patronage and countenance 
of a person of Mannering’s wealth and consequence. He 
was aware, from his knowledge of mankind, that Mannering, 
though generous and benevolent, had the foible of expecting 
and exacting a minute compliance with his directions. He 
was therefore racking his recollection to discover if every- 
thing had been arranged to meet the Colonel’s wishes and 
instructions, and, under this uncertainty of mind, he trav- 
ersed the house more than once from the garret to the 
stable. Mrs. Mac-Morlan revolved in a lesser orbit, com- 
prehending the dining-parlour, housekeeper’s room, and 
» 129 


GUY MANNERING 


kitchen. She was only afraid that the dinner might be 
spoiled, to the discredit of her housewifely accomplishments. 
Even the usual passiveness of the Dominie was so far dis- 
turbed that he twice went to the window which looked out 
upon the avenue, and twice exclaimed, ‘Why tarry the wheels 
of their chariot?’ Lucy, the most quiet of the expectants, 
had her own melancholy thoughts. She was now about to 
be consigned to the charge, almost to the benevolence, of 
strangers, with whose character, though hitherto very ami- 
ably displayed, she was but imperfectly acquainted. The 
moments, therefore, of suspense passed anxiously and 
heavily. 

At length the trampling of horses and the sound of wheels 
were heard. The servants, who had already arrived, drew 
up in the hall to receive their master and mistress, with an 
importance and empressement which to Lucy, who had never 
been accustomed to society, or witnessed what is called the 
manners of the great, had something alarming. Mac-Morlan 
went to the door to receive the master and mistress of the 
family, and in a few moments they were in the drawing- 
room. 

Mannering, who had travelled as usual on horseback, en- 
tered with his daughter hanging upon his arm. She was of 
the middle size, or rather less, but formed with much ele- 
gance; piercing dark eyes, and jet-black hair of great length, 
corresponded with the vivacity and intelligence of features 
in which were blended a little haughtiness, and a little bash- 
fulness, a great deal of shrewdness, and some power of hu- 
morous sarcasm. ‘I shall not like her,’ was the result of 
Lucy Bertram’s first glance; ‘and yet I rather think I shall,’ 
was the thought excited by the second. 

Miss Mannering was furred and mantled up to the throat 
against the severity of the weather; the Colonel in his mili- 
tary great-coat. He bowed to Mrs. Mac-Morlan, whom his 
daughter also acknowledged with a fashionable courtesy, not 
dropped so low as at all to incommode her person. The 
Colonel then led his daughter up to Miss Bertram, and, tak- 
ing the hand of the latter, with an air of great kindness and 
almost paternal affection, he said, ‘Julia, this is the young 
lady whom I hope our good friends have prevailed on to 

130 


GUY MANNERING 


honour our house with a long visit. I shall be much gratified 
indeed if you can render Woodbourne as pleasant to Miss 
Bertram as Ellangowan was to me when I first came as a 
wanderer into this country.’ 

The young lady courtesied acquiescence, and took her new 
friend’s hand. Mannering now turned his eye upon the 
Dominie, who had made bows since his entrance into the 
room, sprawling out his leg, and bending his back like an 
automaton, which continues to repeat the same movement 
until the motion is stopt by the artist. ‘My good friend, Mr. 
Sampson,’ said Mannering, introducing him to his daughter, 
and darting at the same time a reproving glance at the 
damsel, notwithstanding he had himself some disposition to 
join her too obvious inclination to risibility; ‘this gentleman, 
Julia, is to put my books in order when they arrive, and I 
expect to derive great advantage from his extensive learning.’ 

‘I am sure we are obliged, to the gentleman, papa, and, to 
borrow a ministerial mode of giving thanks, I shall never 
forget the extraordinary countenance he has been pleased to 
show us. But, Miss Bertram,’ continued she hastily, for her 
father’s brows began to darken, ‘we have travelled a good 
way ; will you permit me to retire before dinner ?’ 

This intimation dispersed all the company save the 
Dominie, who, having no idea of dressing but when he was 
to rise, or of undressing but when he meant to go to bed, 
remained by himself, chewing the cud of a mathematical 
demonstration, until the company again assembled in the 
drawing-room, and from thence adjourned to the dining- 
parlour. 

When the day was concluded, Mannering took an oppor- 
tunity to hold a minute’s conversation with his daughter in 
private. 

‘How do you like your guests, Julia?’ 

‘O, Miss Bertram of all things; but this is a most original 
parson ; why, dear sir, no human being will be able to look at 
him without laughing.’ 

‘While he is under my roof, Julia, every one must learn to 
do so.’ 

‘Lord, papa, the very footmen could not keep their 
gravity !’ 

131 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Then let them strip off my livery/ said the Colonel, ‘and 
laugh at their leisure. Mr. Sampson is a man whom I es- 
teem for his simplicity and benevolence of character. 

‘O, I am convinced of his generosity too,’ said this lively 
lady ; ‘he cannot lift a spoonful of soup to his mouth without 
bestowing a share on everything round.’ 

‘Julia, you are incorrigibfe ; but remember I expect your 
mirth on this subject to be under such restraint that it shall 
neither offend this worthy man’s feelings nor those of Miss 
Bertram, who may be more apt to feel upon his account than 
he on his own. And so, good-night, my dear; and recollect 
that, though Mr. Sampson has certainly not sacrificed to the 
graces, there are many things in this world more truly de- 
serving of ridicule than either awkwardness of manners or 
simplicity of character.’ 

In a day or two Mr. and Mrs. Mac-Morlan left Wood- 
bourne, after taking an affectionate farewell of their late 
guest. The household were now settled in their new quar- 
ters. The young ladies followed their studies and amuse- 
ments together. Colonel Mannering was agreeably surprised 
to find that Miss Bertram was well skilled in French and 
Italian, thanks to the assiduity of Dominie Sampson, whose 
labour had silently made him acquainted with most modern 
as well as ancient languages. Of music she knew little or 
nothing, but her new friend undertook to give her lessons; 
in exchange for which she was to learn from Lucy the habit 
of walking, and the art of riding, and the courage necessary 
to defy the season. Mannering was careful to substitute for 
their amusement in the evening such books as might convey 
some solid instruction with entertainment, and, as he read 
aloud with great skill and taste, the winter nights passed 
pleasantly away. 

Society was quickly formed where there were so many 
inducements. Most of the families of the neighbourhood 
visited Colonel Mannering, and he was soon able to select 
from among them such as best suited his taste and habits. 
Charles Hazlewood held a distinguished place in his favour, 
and was a frequent visitor, not without the consent and ap- 
probation of his parents; for there was no knowing, they 
thought, what assiduous attention might produce, and the 

132 


GUY MANNERING 


beautiful Miss Mannering, of high family, with an Indian 
fortune, was a prize worth looking after. Dazzled with such 
a prospect, they never considered the risk which had once 
been some object of their apprehension, that his boyish and 
inconsiderate fancy might form an attachment to the penni- 
less Lucy Bertram, who had nothing on earth to recommend 
her but a pretty face, good birth, and a most amiable dispo- 
sition. Mannering was more prudent. He considered him- 
self acting as Miss Bertram’s guardian, and, while he did not 
think it incumbent upon him altogether to check her inter- 
course with a young gentleman for whom, excepting in 
wealth, she was a match in every respect, he laid it under 
such insensible restraint as might prevent any engagement 
or eclaircissement taking place until the young man should 
have seen a little more of life and of the world, and have at- 
tained that age when he might be considered as entitled to 
judge for himself in the matter in which his happiness was 
chiefly interested. 

While these matters engaged the attention of the other 
members of the Woodbourne family. Dominie Sampson was 
occupied, body and soul, in the arrangement of the late 
bishop’s library, which had been sent from Liverpool by sea, 
and conveyed by thirty or forty carts from the sea-port at 
which it was landed. Sampson’s joy at beholding the pon- 
derous contents of these chests arranged upon the floor of 
the large apartment, from whence he was to transfer them 
to the shelves, baffles all description. He grinned like an 
ogre, swung his arms like the sails of a wind-mill, shouted 
‘Prodigious’ till the roof rung to his raptures. ‘He had 
never,’ he said, ‘seen so many books together, except in the 
College Library’; and now his dignity and delight in being 
superintendent of the collection raised him, in his own opin- 
ion, almost to the rank of the academical librarian, whom he 
had always regarded as the greatest and happiest man on 
earth. Neither were his transports diminished upon a hasty 
examination of the contents of these volumes. Some, indeed, 
of belles lettres, poems, plays, or memoirs he tossed indig- 
nantly aside, with the implied censure of ‘psha,’ or ‘frivolous’ ; 
but the greater and bulkier part of the collection bore a very 
different character. The deceased prelate, a divine of the old 

133 


GUY MANNERING 


and deeply-leamed cast, had loaded his shelves with volumes 
which displayed the antique and venerable attributes so hap- 
pily described by a modern poet : — 

That weight of wood, with leathern coat o’erlaid. 

Those ample clasps of solid metal made, 

The close-press’d leaves unoped for many an age. 

The dull red edging of the well-fill’d page. 

On the broad back the stubborn ridges roll’d, 

Where yet the title stands in tarnish’d gold. 

Books of theology and controversial divinity, commentaries, 
and polyglots, sets of the Fathers, and sermons which might 
each furnish forth ten brief discourses of modern date, books 
of science, ancient and modern, classical authors in their 
best and rarest forms — such formed the late bishop’s vener- 
able library, and over such the eye of Dominie Sampson 
gloated with rapture. He entered them in the catalogue in 
his best running hand, forming each letter with the accuracy 
of a lover writing a valentine, and placed each individually on 
the destined shelf with all the reverence which I have seen a 
lady pay to a jar of old china. With all this zeal his labours 
advanced slowly. He often opened a volume when half- 
way up the library steps, fell upon some interesting passage, 
and, without shifting his inconvenient posture, continued im- 
mersed in the fascinating perusal until the servant pulled him 
by the skirts to assure him that dinner waited. He then 
repaired to the parlour, bolted his food down his capacious 
throat in squares of three inches, answered ay and no at ran- 
dom to whatever question was asked at him, and again 
hurried back to the library, as soon as his napkin was re- 
moved, and sometimes with it hanging round his neck like a 
pinafore ; — 

How happily the days 
Of Thalaba went by ! 

And, having thus left the principal characters of our tale 
in a situation which, being sufficiently comfortable to them- 
selves, is, of course, utterly uninteresting to the reader, we 
take up the history of a person who has as yet only been 
named, and who has all the interest that uncertainty and 
misfortune can give. 


134 














GUY . MANNERING 


CHAPTER XXI. 

What say’st thou, Wise One? that all-powerful Love 
Can fortune’s strong impediments remove; 

Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth, 

The pride of genius with the pride of birth. 

Crabbe. 

y BROWN — I will not give at full length his thrice un- 
. happy name — had been from infancy a ball for for- 
tune to spurn at; but nature had given him that elasticity of 
mind which rises higher from the rebound. His form was 
tall, manly, and active, and his features corresponded with 
his person ; for, although far from regular,, they had an ex- 
pression of intelligence and good-humour, and when he spoke, 
or was particularly animated, might be decidedly pronounced 
interesting. His manner indicated the military profession, 
which had been his choice, and in which he had now attained 
the rank of captain, the person who succeeded Colonel Man- 
nering in his command having laboured to repair the in- 
justice which Brown had sustained by that gentleman's prej- 
udice against him. But this, as well as his liberation from 
captivity, had taken place after Mannering left India. Brown 
followed at no distant period, his regiment being recalled 
home. His first inquiry was after the family of Mannering, 
and, easily learning their route northward, he followed it 
with the purpose of resuming his addresses to Julia. With 
her father he deemed he had no measures to keep; for, 
ignorant of the more venomous belief which had been in- 
stilled into the Colonel’s mind, he regarded him as an op- 
pressive aristocrat, who had used his power as a command- 
ing officer to deprive him of the preferment due to his be- 
haviour, and who had forced upon him a personal quarrel 
without any better reason than his attentions to a pretty 
young woman, agreeable to herself, and permitted and coun- 
tenanced by her mother. He was determined, therefore, to 
take no rejection unless from the young lady herself, believ- 
ing that the heavy misfortunes of his painful wound and im- 
prisonment were direct iniuries received from the father, 
which might dispense with his using much ceremony towards 

135 


GUY MANNERING 


him. How far his scheme had succeeded when his nocturnal 
visit was discovered by Mr. Mervyn, our readers are already 
informed. 

Upon this unpleasant occurrence Captain Brown absented 
himself from the inn in which he had resided under the name 
of Dawson, so that Colonel Mannering’s attempts to discover 
and trace him were unavailing. He resolved, however, that no 
difficulties should prevent his continuing his enterprise while 
Julia left him a ray of hope. The interest he had secured in 
her bosom was such as she had been unable to conceal from 
him, and with all the courage of romantic gallantry he de- 
termined upon perseverance. But we believe the reader will 
be as well pleased to learn his mode of thinking and inten- 
tions from his own communication to his special friend and 
confidant. Captain Delaserre, a Swiss gentleman who had a 
company in his regiment. 

Extract. 

‘Let me hear from you soon, dear Delaserre. Remember, 
I can learn nothing about regimental affairs but through 
your friendly medium, and I long to know what has become 
of Ayre’s court-martial, and whether Elliot gets the majority; 
also how recruiting comes on, and how the young officers 
like the mess. Of our kind friend the Lieutenant-Colonel I 
need ask nothing; I saw him as I passed through Notting- 
ham, happy in the bosom of his family. What a happiness it 
is, Philip, for us poor devils, that we have a little resting- 
place between the camp and the grave, if we can manage to 
escape disease, and steel, and lead, and the effects of hard 
living. A retired old soldier is always a graceful and re- 
spected character. He grumbles a little now and then, but 
then his is licensed murmuring; were a lawyer, or a physi- 
cian, or a clergyman to breathe a complaint of hard luck or 
want of preferment, a hundred tongues would blame his own 
incapacity as the cause. But the most stupid veteran that 
ever faltered out the thrice-told tale of a siege and a battle, 
and a cock and a bottle, is listened to with sympathy and 
reverence when he shakes his thin locks and talks with indig- 
nation of the boys that are put over his head. And you and 
I, Delaserre, foreigners both — for what am I the better that 
I was originally a Scotchman, since, could I prove my de- 


GUY MANNERING 


scent, the English would hardly acknowledge me a country- 
man? — we may boast that we have fought out our prefer- 
ment, and gained that by the sword which we had not money 
to compass otherwise. The English are a wise people. While 
they praise themselves, and affect to undervalue all other 
nations, they leave us, luckily, trap-doors and back-doors 
open, by which we strangers, less favoured by nature, may 
arrive at a share of their advantages. And thus they are in 
some respects like a boasting landlord, who exalts the value 
and flavour of his six-years-old mutton, while he is delighted 
to dispense a share of it to all the company. In short, you, 
whose proud family, and I, whose hard fate, made us soldiers 
of fortune, have the pleasant recollection that in the British 
service, stop where we may upon our career, it is only for 
want of money to pay the turnpike, and not from our being 
prohibited to travel the road. If, therefore, you can per- 
suade little Weischel to come into ours, for God^s sake let 
him buy the ensigncy, live prudently, mind his duty, and 
trust to the fates for promotion. 

‘And now, I hope you are expiring with curiosity to learn 
the end of my romance. I told you I had deemed it con- 
venient to make a few days’ tour on foot among the moun- 
tains of Westmoreland with Dudley, a young English' artist 
with whom I have formed some acquaintance. A fine fellow 
this, you must know, Delaserre: he paints tolerably, draws 
beautifully, converses well, and plays charmingly on the 
flute; and, though thus well entitled to be a coxcomb of 
talent, is, in fact, a modest unpretending young man. On 
our return from our little tour I learned that the enemy had 
been reconnoitring. Mr. Mervyn’s barge had crossed the 
lake, I was informed by my landlord, with the squire himself 
and a visitor. 

‘ “What sort of person, landlord ?” 

‘ “Why, he was a dark officer-looking mon, at they called 
Colonel. Squoire Mervyn questioned me as close as I had 
been at ’sizes. I had guess, Mr. Dawson” (I told you that 
was my feigned name), “but I tould him nought of your 
vagaries, and going out a-laking in the mere a-noights, not 
I ; an I can make no sport, I’se spoil none; and Squoire 
Mervyn’s as cross as poy-crust too, mon ; he’s aye maunder- 

137 


GUY MANNERING 


ing an my guests but land beneath his house, though it be 
marked for the fourth station in the survey. Noa, noa, e’en 
let un smell things out o’ themselves for Joe Hodges.” 

'You will allow there was nothing for it after this but 
paying honest Joe Hodges’s bill and departing, unless I had 
preferred making him my confidant, for which I felt in no 
way inclined. Besides, I learned that our ci-devant Colonel 
was on full retreat for Scotland, carrying off poor Julia along 
with him. I understand from those who conduct the heavy 
baggage that he takes his winter quarters at a place called 

Woodbourne, in shire in Scotland. He will be all on the 

alert just now, so I must let him enter his entrenchments 
without any new alarm. And then, my good Colonel, to 
whom I owe so many grateful thanks, pray look to your de- 
fence. 

‘I protest to you, Delaserre, I often think there is a little 
contradiction enters into the ardour of my pursuit. I think 
I would rather bring this haughty insulting man to the ne- 
cessity of calling his daughter Mrs. Brown than I would wed 
her with his full consent, and with the King’s permission to 
change my name for the style and arms of Mannering, 
though his whole fortune went with them. There is only one 
circumstance that chills me a little: Julia is young and ro- 
mantic. I would not willingly hurry her into a step which 
her riper years might disapprove; no — nor would I like to 
have her upbraid me, were it but with a glance of her eye, 
with having ruined her fortunes, far less give her reason to 
say, as some have not been slow to tell their lords, that, had 
I left her time for consideration, she would have been wiser 
and done better. No, Delaserre, this must not be. The pic- 
ture presses close upon me, because I am aware a girl in 
Julia’s situation has no distinct and precise idea of the value 
of the sacrifice she makes. She knows difficulties only by 
name; and, if she thinks of love and a farm, it is a ferme 
ornee, such as is only to be found in poetic description or in 
the park of a gentleman of twelve thousand a-year. She 
would be ill prepared for the privations of that real Swiss 
cottage we have so often talked of, and for the difficulties 
which must necessarily surround us even before we attained 
that haven. This must be a point clearly ascertained. Al- 

138 


GUY MANNERING 


though Julia’s beauty and playful tenderness have made an 
impression on my heart never to be erased, I must be satis- 
fied that she perfectly understands the advantages she fore- 
goes before she sacrifices them for my sake. 

‘Am I too proud, Delaserre, when I trust that even this 
trial may terminate favourably to my wishes ? Am I too vain 
when I suppose that the few personal qualities which I pos- 
sess, with means of competence, however moderate, and the 
determination of consecrating my life to her happiness, may 
make amends for all I must call upon her to forego? Or 
will a diflEerence of dress, of attendance, of style, as it is 
called, of the power of shifting at pleasure the scenes in 
which she seeks amusement — will these outweigh in her esti- 
mation the prospect of domestic happiness and the inter- 
change of unabating affection ? I say nothing of her father : 
his good and evil qualities are so strangely mingled that the 
former are neutralised by the latter ; and that which she must 
regret as a daughter is so much blended with what she would 
gladly escape from, that I place the separation of the father 
and child as a circumstance which weighs little in her re- 
markable case. Meantime I keep up my spirits as I may. I 
have incurred too many hardships and difficulties to be pre- 
sumptuous or confident in success, and I have been too often 
and too wonderfully extricated from them to be despondent. 

‘I wish you saw this country. I think the scenery would 
delight you. At least it often brings to my recollection your 
glowing description of your native country. To me it has 
in a great measure the charm of novelty. Of the Scottish 
hills, though born among them, as I have always been as- 
sured, I have but an indistinct recollection. Indeed, my 
memory rather dwells upon the blank which my youthful 
mind experienced in gazing on the levels of the isle of Zea- 
land, than on anything which preceded that feeling; but I 
am confident, from that sensation as well as from the recol- 
lections which preceded it, that hills and rocks have been fa- 
miliar to me at an early period, and that, though now only 
remembered by contrast, and by the blank which I felt while 
gazing around for them in vain, they must have made an 
indelible impression on my infant imagination. I remem- 
ber, when we first mounted that celebrated pass in the 

139 


GUY MANNERING 


Mysore country, while most of the others felt only awe and 
astonishment at the height and grandeur of the scenery, I 
rather shared your feelings and those of Cameron, whose 
admiration of such wild rocks was blended with familiar 
love, derived from early association. Despite my Dutch edu- 
cation, a blue hill to me is as a friend, and a roaring torrent 
like the sound of a domestic song that hath soothed my in- 
fancy. I never felt the impulse so strongly as in this land 
of lakes and mountains, and nothing grieves me so much as 
that duty prevents your being with me in my numerous ex- 
cursions among its recesses. Some drawings I have at- 
tempted, but I succeed vilely. Dudley, on the contrary, draws 
delightfully, with that rapid touch which seems like magic; 
while I labour and botch, and make this too heavy and that 
too light, and produce at last a base caricature. I must stick 
to the flageolet, for music is the only one of the fine arts 
which deigns to acknowledge me. 

‘Did you know that Colonel Mannering was a draughts- 
man? I believe not, for he scorned to display his accom- 
plishments to the view of a subaltern. He draws beauti- 
fully, however. Since he and Julia left Mervyn Hall, Dudley 
was sent for there. The squire, it seems, wanted a set of 
drawings made up, of which Mannering had done the first 
four, but was interrupted by his hasty departure in his pur- 
pose of completing them. Dudley says he has seldom seen 
anything so masterly, though slight; and each had attached 
to it a short poetical description. Is Saul, you will say, 
among the prophets? Colonel Mannering write poetry! 
Why, surely this man must have taken all the pains to con- 
ceal his accomplishments that others do to display theirs. 
How reserved and unsociable he appeared among us! how 
little disposed to enter into any conversation which could 
become generally interesting! And then his attachment to 
that unworthy Archer, so much below him in every respect ; 
and all this because he was the brother of Viscount Archer- 
field, a poor Scottish peer! I think, if Archer had longer 
survived the wounds in the affair of Cuddyboram, he would 
have told something that might have thrown light upon the in- 
consistencies of this singular man’s character. He repeated to 
me more than once, “I have that to say which will alter your 

140 


GUY MANNERING 


hard opinion of our late Colonel.” But death pressed him too 
hard; and if he owed me any atonement, which some of his 
expressions seemed to imply, he died before it could be made. 

‘I propose to make a further excursion through this coun- 
try while this fine frosty weather serves, and Dudley, almost 
as good a walker as myself, goes with me for some part of 
the way. We part on the borders of Cumberland, when 
he must return to his lodgings in Marybone, up three pair 
of stairs, and labour at what he calls the commercial part of 
his profession. There cannot, he says, be such a difference 
betwixt any two portions of existence as between that in 
which the artist, if an enthusiast, collects the subjects of his 
drawings and that which must necessarily be dedicated to 
turning over his portfolio and exhibiting them to the pro- 
voking indifference, or more provoking criticism, of fashion- 
able amateurs. “During the summer of my year,” says Dud- 
ley, ‘T am as free as a wild Indian, enjoying myself at 
liberty amid the grandest scenes of nature ; while dur- 
ing my winters and springs I am not only cabined, cribbed, 
and confined in a miserable garret, but condemned to as in- 
tolerable subservience to the humour of others, and to as in- 
different company, as if I were a literal galley slave.” I 
have promised him your acquaintance, Delaserre; you will 
be delighted with his specimens of art, and he with your 
Swiss fanaticism for mountains and torrents. 

‘When I lose Dudley’s company, I am informed that I can 
easily enter Scotland by stretching across a wild country in 
the upper part of Cumberland ; and that route I shall follow, 
to give the Colonel time to pitch his camp ere I reconnoitre 
his position. Adieu ! Delaserre. I shall hardly find another 
opportunity of writing till I reach Scotland/ 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XXIL 


Jog on, jog on, the footpath way. 

And merrily hend the stile a ; 

A merry heart goes all the day, 

A sad one tires in a mile a. 

Winter’s Tale, 

L et the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty Novem- 
ber morning, the scene an open heath, having for the 
background that huge chain of mountains in which Skiddaw 
and Saddleback are pre-eminent ; let him look along that 
blind road, by which I mean the track so slightly marked by 
the passengers’ foot-steps that it can but be traced by a 
slight shade of verdure from the darker heath around it, 
and, being only visible to the eye when at some distance, 
ceases to be distinguished while the foot is actually treading 
it; along this faintly-traced path advances the object of our 
present narrative. His firm step, his erect and free carriage, 
have a military air which corresponds well with his well- 
proportioned limbs and stature of six feet high. His dress 
is so plain and simple that it indicates nothing as to rank; 
it may be that of a gentleman who travels in this manner for 
his pleasure, or of an inferior person of whom it is the proper 
and usual garb. Nothing can be on a more reduced scale 
than his travelling equipment. A volume of Shakspeare in 
each pocket, a small bundle with a change of linen slung 
across his shoulders, an oaken cudgel in his hand, complete 
our pedestrian’s accommodations, and in this equipage we 
present him to our readers. 

Brown had parted that morning from his friend Dudley, 
and began his solitary walk towards Scotland. 

The first two or three miles were rather melancholy, from 
want of the society to which he had of late been accustomed. 
But this unusual mood of mind soon gave way to the influ- 
ence of his natural good spirits, excited by the exercise and 
the bracing effects of the frosty air. He whistled as he went 
along, not ‘from want of thought,' but to give vent to those 
buoyant feelings which he had no other mode of expressing. 
For each peasant whom he chanced to meet he had a kind 

142 


GUY MANNERING 


greeting or a good-humoured jest; the hardy Cumbrians 
grinned as they passed, and said, ‘That’s a kind heart, God 
bless un !’ and the market-girl looked more than once over 
her shoulder at the athletic form, which corresponded so well 
with the frank and blythe address of the stranger. A rough 
terrier dog, his constant companion, who rivalled his master 
in glee, scampered at large in a thousand wheels round the 
heath, and came back to jump up on him and assure him that 
he participated in the pleasure of the journey. Dr. Johnson 
thought life had few things better than the excitation pro- 
duced by being whirled rapidly along in a post-chaise; but 
he who has in youth experienced the confident and indepen- 
dent feeling of a stout pedestrian in an interesting country, 
and during fine weather, will hold the taste of the great 
moralist cheap in comparison. 

Part of Brown’s view in choosing that unusual track which 
leads through the eastern wilds of Cumberland into Scot- 
land, had been a desire to view the remains of the celebrated 
Roman Wall, which are more visible in that direction than in 
any other part of its extent. His education had been im- 
perfect and desultory; but neither the busy scenes in which 
he had been engaged, nor the pleasures of youth, nor the pre- 
carious state of his own circumstances, had diverted him 
from the task of mental improvement. ‘And this then is the 
Roman Wall,’ he said, scrambling up to a height which com- 
manded the course of that celebrated work of antiquity. 
‘What a people! whose labours, even at this extremity of 
their empire, comprehended such space, and were executed 
upon a scale of such grandeur! In future ages, when the 
science of war shall have changed, how few traces will exist 
of the labours of Vauban and Coehorn, while this wonder- 
ful people’s remains will even then continue to interest and 
astonish posterity ! Their fortifications, their aqueducts, their 
theatres, their fountains, all their public works, bear the 
grave, solid, and majestic character of their language; while 
our modern labours, like our modern tongues, seem but con- 
structed out of their fragments.’ Having thus moralised, he 
remembered that he was hungry, and pursued his walk to a 
small public-house, at which he proposed to get some re- 
freshment. 


143 


GUY, MANNERING 


The alehouse, for it was no better, was situated in the 
bottom of a little dell, through which trilled a small rivulet. 
It was shaded by a large ash tree, against which the clay- 
built shed that served the purpose of a stable was erected, 
and upon which it seemed partly to recline. In this shed 
stood a saddled horse, employed in eating his corn. The 
cottages in this part of Cumberland partake of the rudeness 
which characterises those of Scotland. The outside of the 
house promised little for the interior, notwithstanding the 
vaunt of a sign, where a tankard of ale voluntarily decanted 
itself into a tumbler, and a hieroglyphical scrawl below at- 
tempted to express a promise of 'good entertainment for man 
and horse.’ Brown was no fastidious traveller: he stooped 
and entered the cabaret.^ 

The first object which caught his eye in the kitchen was 
a tall, stout, country-looking man in a large jockey great- 
coat, the owner of the horse which stood in the shed, who 
was busy discussing huge slices of cold boiled beef, and cast- 
ing from time to time an eye through the window to see how 
his steed sped with his provender. A large tankard of ale 
flanked his plate of victuals, to which he applied himself by 
intervals. The good woman of the house was employed in 
baking. The fire, as is usual in that country, was on a stone 
hearth, in the midst of an immensely large chimney, which 
had two seats extended beneath the vent. On one of these 
sat a remarkably tall woman, in a red cloak and slouched 
bonnet, having the appearance of a tinker or beggar. She 
was busily engaged with a short black tobacco-pipe. 

At the request of Brown for some food, the landlady wiped 
with her mealy apron one corner of the deal table, placed a 
wooden trencher and knife and fork before the traveller, 
pointed to the round of beef, recommended Mr. Dinmont’s 
good example, and finally filled a brown pitcher with her 
home-brewed. Brown lost no time in doing ample credit to 
both. For a while his opposite neighbour and he were too 
busy to take much notice of each other, except by a good- 
humoured nod as each in turn raised the tankard to his head. 
At length, when our pedestrian began to supply the wants of 


*See Mumps’s Ha’. Note 2. 


144 


GUY MANNERING 


little Wasp, the Scotch store- farmer, for such was Mr. Din- 
mont, found himself at leisure to enter into conversation. 

‘A bonny terrier that, sir, and a fell chield at the vermin, 
I warrant him ; that is, if he’s been weel entered, for it a’ lies 
in that.’ 

‘Really, sir,’ said Brown, ‘his education has been somewhat 
neglected, and his chief property is being a pleasant com- 
panion.’ 

‘Ay, sir? that’s a pity, begging your pardon, it’s a great 
pity that; beast or body, education should aye be minded. I 
have six terriers at hame, forbye twa couple of slow-hunds, 
five grews, and a wheen other dogs. There’s auld Pepper 
and auld Mustard, and young Pepper and young Mustard, 
and little Pepper and little Mustard. I had them a’ regularly 
entered, first wi’ rottens, then wi’ stots or weasels, and then 
wi’ the tods and brocks, and now they fear naething that ever 
cam wi’ a hairy skin on’t.’ 

‘I have no doubt, sir, they are thoroughbred; but, to have 
so many dogs, you seem to have a very limited variety of 
names for them?’ 

‘O, that’s a fancy of my ain to mark the breed, sir. The 
Deuke himsell has sent as far as Charlie’s Hope to get ane 
o’ Dandy Dinmont’s Pepper and Mustard terriers. Lord, 
man, he sent Tam Hudson^ the keeper, and sicken a day 
as we had wi’ the foumarts and the tods, and sicken a 
blythe gae-down as we had again e’en ! Faith, that was a 
night !’ 

‘I suppose game is very plenty with you ?’ 

‘Plenty, man! I believe there’s mair hares than sheep on 
my farm; and for the moor-fowl or the grey-fowl, they lie 
as thick as doos in a dookit. Did ye ever shoot a blackcock, 
man ?’ 

‘Really I had never even the pleasure to see one, except in 
the museum at Keswick.’ 

‘There now ! I could guess that by your southland tongue. 
It’s very odd of these English folk that come here, how few 
of them has seen a blackcock ! I’ll tell you what — ye seem 
to be an honest lad, and if you’ll call on me, on Dandy Din- 


^The real name of this veteran sportsman is now [1829] restored. 

145 


GUY MANNERING 


mont, at Charlie’s Hope, ye shall see a blackcock, and shoot 
a blackcock, and eat a blackcock too, man.’ 

‘Why, the proof of the matter is the eating, to be sure, sir ; 
and I shall be happy if I can find time to accept your invita- 
tion.’ 

‘Time, man? what ails ye to gae hame wi me the now? 
How d’ye travel?’ 

‘On foot, sir ; and if that handsome pony be yours, I should 
find it impossible to keep up with you.’ 

‘No, unless ye can walk up to fourteen mile an hour. But 
ye can come ower the night as far as Riccarton, where there 
is a public; or if ye like to stop at Jockey Grieve’s at the 
Heuch they would be blythe to see ye, and I am just gaun to 
stop and drink a dram at the door wi’ him, and I would tell 
him you’re coming up. Or stay — gudewife, could ye lend 
this gentleman the gudeman’s galloway, and I’ll send it ower 
the Waste in the morning wi’ the callant?’ 

The galloway was turned out upon the fell, and was swear 
to catch. — ‘Aweel, aweel, there’s nae help for’t, but come up 
the morn at ony rate. And now, gudewife, I maun ride, to 
get to the Liddle or it be dark, for your Waste has but a 
kittle character, ye ken yoursell.’ 

‘Hout fie, Mr. Dinmont, that’s no like you, to gie the 
country an ill name. I wot, there has been nane stirred in 
the Waste since Sawney Culloch, the travelling-merchant, 
that Rowley Overdees and Jock Penny suffered for at Car- 
lisle twa years since. There’s no ane in Bewcastle would do 
the like o’ that now ; we be a’ true folk now.’ 

‘Ay, Tib, that will be when the deil’s blind; and his een’s 
no sair yet. But hear ye, gudewife, I have been through 
maist feck o’ Galloway and Dumfries-shire, and I have been 
round by Carlisle, and I was at the Staneshiebank Fair the 
day, and I would like ill to be rubbit sae near hame, so I’ll 
take the gate.’ 

‘Hae ye been in Dumfries and Galloway?’ said the old 
dame who sate smoking by the fireside, and who had not yet 
spoken a word. 

‘Troth have I, gudewife, and a weary round I’ve had o’t.’ 

‘Then ye’ll maybe ken a place they ca’ Ellangowan ?’ 

‘Ellangowan, that was Mr. Bertram’s? I ken the place 
146 


GUY MANNERING 


wed eneugh. The Laird died about a fortnight since, as I 
heard/ 

‘Died !’ said the old woman, dropping her pipe, and rising 
and coming forward upon the floor — ‘died? are you sure of 
that ?’ 

‘Troth, am I,’ said Dinmont, ‘for it made nae sma’ noise 
in the country-side. He died just at the roup of the stock- 
ing and furniture; it stoppit the roup, and mony folk were 
disappointed. They said he was the last of an auld family 
too, and mony were sorry; for gude blude’s scarcer in Scot- 
land than it has been.’ 

‘Dead !’ replied the old woman, whom our readers have al- 
ready recognised as their acquaintance Meg Merrilies — 
‘dead ! that quits a’ scores. And did ye say he died without 
an heir ?’ 

‘Ay did he, gudewife, and the estate’s sell’d by the same 
token; for they said they couldna have sell’d it if there had 
been an heir-male.’ 

‘Sell’d!’ echoed the gipsy, with something like a scream; 
‘and wha durst buy Ellangowan that was not of Bertram’s 
blude? and wha could tell whether the bonny knave-bairn 
may not come back to claim his ain ? wha durst buy the estate 
and the castle of Ellangowan?’ 

‘Troth, gudewife, just ane o’ thae writer chields that buys 
a’ thing; they ca’ him Glossin, I think.’ 

‘Glossin! Gibbie Glossin! that I have carried in my creels 
a hundred times, for his mother wasna muckle better than 
mysell — he to presume to buy the barony of Ellangowan! 
Gude be wi’ us ; it is an awfu’ warld ! I wished him ill ; but 
no sic a downfa’ as a’ that neither. Wae’s me! wae’s me to 
think o’t !’ She remained a moment silent, but still opposing 
with her hand the farmer’s retreat, who betwixt every ques- 
tion was about to turn his back, but good-humouredly stopped 
on observing the deep interest his answers appeared to ex- 
cite. 

‘It will be seen and heard of — earth and sea will not hold 
their peace longer ! Can ye say if the same man be now the 
sheriff of the county that has been sae for some years past?’ 

‘Na, he’s got some other birth in Edinburgh, they say ; but 
gude day, gudewife, I maun ride.’ She followed him to his 

147 


GUY MANNERING 


horse, and, while he drew the girths of his saddle, adjusted 
the walise, and put on the bridle, still plied him with questions 
concerning Mr. Bertram's death and the fate of his daughter ; 
on which, however, she could obtain little information from 
the honest farmer. 

‘Did ye ever see a place they ca’ Derncleugh, about a mile 
frae the Place of Ellangowan?’ 

‘I wot weel have I, gudewife. A wild-looking den it is, 
wi’ a whin auld wa’s o’ shealings yonder; I saw it when I 
gaed ower the ground wi’ ane that wanted to take the farm.’ 

‘It was a blythe bit ance !’ said Meg, speaking to herself. 
‘Did ye notice if there was an auld saugh tree that’s maist 
blawn down, but yet its roots are in the earth, and it hangs 
ower the bit burn ? Mony a day hae I wrought my stocking 
and sat on my sunkie under that saugh.’ 

‘Hout, deil’s i’ the wife, wi’ her saughs, and her sunkies, 
and Ellangowans. Godsake, woman, let me away; there’s 
saxpance t’ye to buy half a mutchkin, instead o’ clavering 
about thae auld-warld stories.’ 

‘Thanks to ye, gudeman; and now ye hae answered a’ my 
questions, and never speired wherefore I asked them. I’ll 
gie you a bit canny advice, and ye maunna speir what for 
neither. Tib Mumps will be out wi’ the stirrup-dram in a 
gliffing. She’ll ask ye whether ye gang ower Willie’s Brae 
or through Conscowthart Moss ; tell her ony ane ye like, but 
be sure (speaking low and emphatically) to tak the ane ye 
dinna tell her.’ The farmer laughed and promised, and the 
gipsy retreated. 

‘Will you take her advice?’ said Brown, who had been an 
attentive listener to this conversation. 

‘That will I no, the randy quean! Na, I had far rather 
Tib Mumps kenn’d which way I was gaun than her, though 
Tib’s no muckle to lippen to neither, and I would advise ye 
on no account to stay in the house a’ night.’ 

In a moment after Tib, the landlady, appeared with her 
stirrup-cup, which was taken off. She then, as Meg had pre- 
dicted, inquired whether he went the hill or the moss road. 
He answered, the latter; and, having bid Brown good-bye, 
and again told him, ‘he depended on seeing him at Charlie’s 
Hope, the morn at latest,’ he rode off at a round pace. 

148 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Gallows and knock are too powerful on the hisrhway. 

Winte'/s Tale. 

T he hint of the hospitable farmer was not lost on Brown. 

, But while he paid his reckoning he could not avoid 
repeatedly fixing his eyes on Meg Merrilies. She was in all 
respects the same witch-like figure as when we first intro- 
duced her at Ellangowan Place. Time had grizzled her raven 
locks and added wrinkles to her wild features, but her height 
remained erect, and her activity was unimpaired. It was 
remarked of this woman, as of others of the same descrip- 
tion, that a life of action, though not of labour, gave her the 
perfect command of her limbs and figure, so that the atti- 
tudes into which she most naturally threw herself were free, 
unconstrained, and picturesque. At present she stood by the 
window of the cottage, her person drawn up so as to show 
to full advantage her masculine stature, and her head some- 
what thrown back, that the large bonnet with which her face 
was shrouded might not interrupt her steady gaze at Brown. 

At every gesture he made and every tone he uttered she 
seemed to give an almost imperceptible start. On his part, 
he was surprised to find that he could not look upon this 
singular figure without some emotion. ‘Have I dreamed of 
such a figure?’ he said to himself, ‘or does this wild and 
singular-looking woman recall to my recollection some of 
the strange figures I have seen in our Indian pagodas ?’ 

While he embarrassed himself with these discussions, and 
the hostess was engaged in rummaging out silver in change 
of half-a-guinea, the gipsy suddenly made two strides and 
seized Brown’s hand. He expected, of course, a display of 
her skill in palmistry, but she seeme<J agitated by other feel- 
ings. 

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘tell me, in the name of God, young 
man, what is your name, and whence you came ?’ 

‘My name is Brown, mother, and I come from the East 
Indies.’ 

‘From the East Indies!’ dropping his hand with a sigh; 
‘it cannot be then. I am such an auld fool, that everything 

149 


GUY MANNERING 


I look on seems the thing I want maist to see. But the East 
Indies ! that cannot be. Weel, be what ye will, ye hae a face 
and a tongue that puts me in mind of auld times. Good day ; 
make haste on your road, and if ye see ony of our folk, 
meddle not and make not, and they’ll do ye nae harm.’ 

Brown, who had by this time received his change, put a 
shilling into her hand, bade his hostess farewell, and, taking 
the route which the farmer had gone before, walked briskly 
on, with the advantage of being guided by the fresh hoof- 
prints of his horse. Meg Merrilies looked after him for some 
time, and then muttered to herself, ‘I maun see that lad 
again; and I maun gang back to Ellangowan too. The 
Laird’s dead ! aweel, death pays a’ scores ; he was a kind man 
ance. The sheriif ’s flitted, and I can keep canny in the bush ; 
so there’s no muckle hazard o’ scouring the cramp-ring. I 
would like to see bonny Ellangowan again or I die.’ 

Brown meanwhile proceeded northward at a round pace 
along the moorish tract called the Waste of Cumberland. He 
passed a solitary house, towards which the horseman who 
preceded him had apparently turned up, for his horse’s tread 
was evident in that direction. A little farther, he seemed to 
have returned again into the road. Mr. Dinmont had probab- 
ly made a visit there either of business or pleasure. T wish,’ 
thought Brown, ‘the good farmer had staid till I came up; 
I should not have been sorry to ask him a few questions about 
the road, which seems to grow wilder and wilder.’ 

In truth, nature, as if she had designed this tract of coun- 
try to be the barrier between two hostile nations, has stamped 
upon it a character of wildness and desolation. The hills are 
neither high nor rocky, but the land is all heath and morass ; 
the huts poor and mean, and at a great distance from each 
other. Immediately around them there is generally some 
little attempt at cultivation; but a half-bred foal or two, 
straggling about with shackles on their hind legs, to save the 
trouble of inclosures, intimate the farmer’s chief resource to 
be the breeding of horses. The people, too, are of a ruder 
and more inhospitable class than are elsewhere to be found 
in Cumberland, arising partly from their own habits, partly 
from their intermixture with vagrants and criminals, who 
make this wild country a refuge from justice. So much were 

150 


GUY MANNERING 


the men of these districts in early times the objects of sus- 
picion and dislike to their more polished neighbours, that 
there was, and perhaps still exists, a by-law of the corpora- 
tion of Newcastle prohibiting any freeman of that city to 
take for apprenticeship a native of certain of these dales. It 
is pithily said, ‘Give a dog an ill name and hang him’ ; and it 
may be added, if you give a man, or race of men, an ill-name 
they are very likely to do something that deserves hanging. 
Of this Brown had heard something, and suspected more, 
from the discourse between the landlady, Dinmont, and the 
gipsy; but he was naturally of a fearless disposition, had 
nothing about him that could tempt the spoiler, and trusted 
to get through the Waste with daylight. In this last par- 
ticular, however, he was likely to be disappointed. The way 
proved longer than he had anticipated, and the horizon be- 
gan to grow gloomy just as he entered upon an extensive 
morass. 

Choosing his steps with care and deliberation, the young 
officer proceeded along a path that sometimes sunk between 
two broken black banks of moss earth, sometimes crossed 
narrow but deep ravines filled with a consistence between 
mud and water, and sometimes along heaps of gravel and 
stones, which had been swept together when some torrent or 
waterspout from the neighbouring hills overflowed the 
marshy ground below. He began to ponder how a horse- 
man could make his way through such broken ground; the 
traces of hoofs, however, were still visible; he even thought 
he heard their sound at some distance, and, convinced that 
Mr. Dinmont’s progress through the morass must be still 
slower than his own, he resolved to push on, in hopes to over- 
take him and have the benefit of his knowledge of the coun- 
try. At this moment his little terrier sprung forward, bark- 
ing most furiously. 

Brown quickened his pace, and, attaining the summit of a 
small rising ground, saw the subject of the dog’s alarm. In 
a hollow about a gunshot below him a man whom he easily 
recognised to be Dinmont was engaged with two others in a 
desperate struggle. He was dismounted, and defending him- 
self as he best could with the butt of his heavy whip. Our 
traveller hastened on to his assistance; but ere he could get 

151 


GUY MANNERING 


up a stroke had levelled the farmer with the earth, and one 
of the robbers, improving his victory, struck him some merci- 
less blows on the head. The other villain, hastened to meet 
Brown, called to his companion to come along, ‘for that one’s 
content,' meaning, probably, past resistance or complaint. 
One ruffian was armed with ‘a cutlass, the other with a blud- 
geon; but as the road was pretty narrow, ‘bar fire-arms,’ 
thought Brown, ‘and I may manage them well enough.’ 
They met accordingly, with the most murderous threats on 
the part of the ruffians. They soon found, however, that their 
new opponent was equally stout and resolute; and, after ex- 
changing two or three blows, one of them told him to ‘follow 
his nose over the heath, in the devil’s name, for they had 
nothing to say to him.’ 

Brown rejected this composition as leaving to their mercy 
the unfortunate man whom they were about to pillage, if not 
to murder outright; and the skirmish had just recommenced 
when Dinmont unexpectedly recovered his senses, his feet, 
and his weapon, and hastened to the scene of action. As he 
had been no easy antagonist, even when surprised and alone, 
the villains did not choose to wait his joining forces with a 
man who had singly proved a match for them both, but fled 
across the bog as fast as their feet could carry them, pur- 
sued by Wasp, who had acted gloriously during the skir- 
mish, annoying the heels of the enemy, and repeatedly effect- 
ing a moment’s diversion in his master’s favour. 

‘Deil, but your dog’s weel entered wi’ the vermin now, sir !’ 
were the first words uttered by the jolly farmer as he came 
up, his head streaming with bleod, and recognised his de- 
liverer and his little attendant. 

‘I hope, sir, you are not hurt dangerously ?’ 

‘O, deil a bit, my head can stand a gay clour; nae thanks 
to them, though, and mony to you. But now, hinney, ye 
maun help me to catch the beast, and ye maun get on behind 
me, for we maun off like whittrets before the whole clan jam- 
fray be doun upon us ; the rest o’ them will no be far off.’ 
The galloway was, by good fortune, easily caught, and 
Brown made some apology for overloading the animal. 

‘Deil a fear, man,’ answered the proprietor ; ‘Dumple could 
carry six folk, if his back was lang eneugh; but God’s sake, 

152 


GUY MANNERING 


haste ye, get on, for I see some folk coming through the slack 
yonder that it may be just as weel no to wait for/ 

Brown was of opinion that this apparition of five or six 
men, with whom the other villains seemed to join company, 
coming across the moss towards them, should abridge cere- 
mony ; he therefore mounted Dumple en croupe, and the little 
spirited nag cantered away with two men of great size and 
strength as if they had been children of six years old. The 
rider, to whom the paths of these wilds seemed intimately 
known, pushed on at a rapid pace, managing with much dex- 
terity to choose the safest route, in which he was aided by 
the sagacity of the galloway, who never failed to take the 
difficult passes exactly at the particular spot, and in the 
special manner, by which they could be most safely crossed. 
Yet, even with these advantages, the road was so broken, 
and they were so often thrown out of the direct course by 
various impediments, that they did not gain much on their 
pursuers. ‘Never mind,' said the undaunted Scotchman to 
his companion, ‘if we were ance by Withershins’ Latch, the 
road’s no near sae soft, and we’ll show them fair play for’t.’ 

They soon came to the place he named, a narrow channel, 
through which soaked, rather than flowed, a small stagnant 
stream, mantled over with bright green mosses. Dinmont 
directed his steed towards a pass where the water appeared 
to flow with more freedom over a harder bottom; but 
Dumple backed from the proposed crossing-place, put his 
head down as if to reconnoitre the swamp more nearly, 
stretching forward his fore-feet, and stood as fast as if he 
had been cut out of stone. • 

‘Had we not better,’ said Brown, ‘dismount, and leave him 
to his fate ; or can you not urge him through the swamp ?’ 

‘Na, na,’ said his pilot, ‘we maun cross Dumple at no rate; 
he has mair sense than mony a Christian.’ -So saying, he 
relaxed the reins, and shook them loosely. ‘Come now, lad, 
take your ain way o’t ; let’s see where ye’ll take us through.’ 

Dumple, left to the freedom of his own will, trotted briskly 
to another part of the latch, less promising, as Brown 
thought, in appearance, but which the animal’s sagacity or 
experience recommended as the safer of the two, and where, 
plunging in, he attained the other side with little difficulty. 

153 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Fm glad we’re out o’ that moss,’ said Dinmont, ‘where 
there’s mair stables for horses than change-houses for men; 
we have the Maiden-way to help us now, at ony rate.’ Accord- 
ingly, they speedily gained a sort of rugged causeway so 
called, being the remains of an old Roman road which trav- 
erses these wild regions in a due northerly direction. Here 
they got on at the rate of nine or ten miles an hour, Dumple 
seeking no other respite than what arose from changing his 
pace from canter to trot. ‘I could gar him show mair action,’ 
said his master, ‘but we are twa lang-legged chields after a’, 
and it would be a pity to stress Dumple ; there wasna the like 
o’ him at Staneshiebank Fair the day.’ 

Brown readily assented to the propriety of sparing the 
horse, and added that, as they were now far out of the reach 
of the rogues, he thought Mr. Dinmont had better tie a hand- 
kerchief round his head, for fear of the cold frosty air aggra- 
vating the wound. 

‘What would I do that for?’ answered the hardy farmer; 
‘the best way’s to let the blood barken upon the cut; that 
saves plasters, hinney.’ 

Brown, who in his military profession had seen a great 
many hard blows pass, could not help remarking^ ‘he had 
never known such severe strokes received with s5 much ap- 
parent indifference.’ 

‘Hout tout, man ! I would never be making a hum-dudgeon 
about a scart on the pow; but we’ll be in Scotland in five 
minutes now, and ye maun gang up to Charlie’s Hope wi’ me, 
that’s a clear case.’ 

Brown readily accepted the offered hospitality. Night was 
now falling when they came in sight of a pretty river winding 
its way through a pastoral country. The hills were greener 
and more abrupt than those which Brown had lately passed, 
sinking their grassy sides at once upon the river. They had 
no pretensions to magnificence of height, or to romantic 
shapes, nor did their smooth swelling slopes exhibit either 
rocks or woods. Yet the view was wild, solitary, and pleas- 
ingly rural. No inclosures, no roads, almost no tillage; it 
seemed a land which a patriarch would have chosen to feed 
his flocks and herds. The remains of here and there a dis- 
mantled and ruined tower showed that it had once harboured 

154 


GUY MANNERING 

beings of a very different description from its present inhabi- 
tants; those freebooters, namely, to whose exploits the wars 
between England and Scotland bear witness. 

Descending by a path towards a well-known ford, Dumple 
crossed the smaH river, and then, quickening his pace, trotted 
about a mile briskly up its banks, and approached two or 
three low thatched houses, placed with their angles to each 
other, with a great contempt of regularity. This was the 
farm-steading of Charlie’s Hope, or, in the language of the 
country, ‘the town.’ A most furious barking was set up at 
their approach by the whole three generations of Mustard 
and Pepper, and a number of allies, names unknown. The 
farmer^ made his well-known voice lustily heard to restore 
order; the door opened, and a half-dressed ewe-milker, who 
had done that good office, shut it in their faces, in order that 
she might run ‘ben the house’ to cry ‘Mistress, mistress, it’s 
the master, and another man wi’ him.’ Dumple, turned 
loose, walked to his own stable-door, and there pawed and 
whinnied for admission, in strains which were answered by 
his acquaintances from the interior. Amid this bustle Brown 
was fain to secure Wasp from the other dogs, who, with ar- 
dour corresponding more to their own names than to the hos- 
pitable temper of their owner, were much disposed to use the 
intruder roughly. 

In about a minute a stout labourer was patting Dumple, 
and introducing him into the stable, while Mrs. Dinmont, a 
well-favoured buxom dame, welcomed her husband with un- 
feigned rapture. ‘Eh, sirs ! gudeman, ye hae been a weary 
while away !’ 

^ See Dandie Dimmont. Note 3,. 


155 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Liddell till now, except in Doric lays. 

Tuned to her murmurs by her love-sicb- swains. 
Unknown in song, though not a purer stream 
Rolls towards the western main. 


Art of Preserving Health. 


HE present store-farmers of the south of Scotland are a 



1 much more refined race than their fathers, and the 
manners I am now to describe have either altogether disap- 
peared or are greatly modified. Without losing the rural 
simplicity of manners, they now cultivate arts unknown to 
the former generation, not only in the progressive improve- 
ment of their possessions, but in all the comforts of life. 
Their houses are more commodious, their habits of life regu- 
lated so as better to keep pace with those of the civilised 
world, and the best of luxuries, the luxury of knowledge, has 
gained ‘much ground among their hills during the last thirty 
years. Deep drinking, formerly their greatest failing, is now 
fast losing ground; and, while the frankness of their exten- 
sive hospitality continues the same, it is, generally speaking, 
refined in its character and restrained in its excesses. 

‘Deil’s in the wife,' said Dandie Dinmont, shaking off his 
spouse's embrace, but gently and with a look of great affec- 
tion ; ‘deil's in ye, Ailie ; d'ye no see the stranger gentleman ?' 

Ailie turned to make her apology — ‘Trot, I was sae weel 
pleased to see the gudeman, that — ^but, gude gracious ! what's 
the matter wi' ye baith ?' for they were now in her little par- 
lour, and the candle showed the streaks of blood which Din- 
mont's wounded head had plentifully imparted to the clothes 
of his companion as well as to his own. ‘Ye've been fighting 
again. Dandy, wi' some o' the Bewcastle horse-coupers ! 
Wow, man, a married man, wi' a bonny family like yours, 
should ken better what a father’s life’s worth in the warld’; 
the tears stood in the good woman’s eyes as she spoke. 

‘Whisht! whisht! gudewife,' said her husband, with a 
smack that had much more affection than ceremony in it; 
‘never mind, never mind; there's a gentleman that will tell 
you that, just when I had ga'en up to Lourie Lowther’s, and 


156 


GUY MANNERING 


had bidden the drinking of twa cheerers, and gotten just in 
again upon the moss, and was whigging cannily awa hame, 
twa landloupers jumpit out of a peat-hag on me or I was 
thinking, and got me down, and knevelled me sair aneuch, 
or I could gar my whip walk about their lugs; and troth, 
gudewife, if this honest gentleman hadna come up, I would 
have gotten mair licks than I like, and lost mair siller than I 
could weel spare ; so ye maun be thankful to him for it, under 
God/ With that he drew from his side-pocket a large 
greasy leather pocket-book, and bade the gudewife lock it up 
in her kist. 

‘God bless the gentleman, and e’en God bless him wi’ a’ my 
heart ; but what can we do for him, but to gie him the meat 
and quarters we wadna refuse to the poorest body on earth — 
unless (her eye directed to the pocket-book, but with a feel- 
ing of natural propriety which made the inference the most 

delicate possible), unless there was ony other way ’ 

Brown saw, and estimated at its due rate, the mixture of sim- 
plicity and grateful generosity which took the downright 
way of expressing itself, yet qualified with so much delicacy ; 
he was aware his own appearance, plain at best, and now 
torn and spattered with blood, made him an object of pity at 
least, and perhaps of charity. He hastened to say his name 
was Brown, a captain in the regiment of cavalry, travel- 

ling for pleasure, and on foot, both from motives of inde- 
pendence and economy; and he begged his kind landlady 
would look at her husband’s wounds, the state of which he 
had refused to permit him to examine. Mrs. Dinmont was 
used to her husband’s broken heads more than to the pres- 
ence of a captain of dragoons. She therefore glanced at a 
table-cloth not quite clean, and conned over her proposed sup- 
per a minute or two, before, patting her husband on the 
shoulder, she bade him sit down for ‘a hard-headed loon, 
that was aye bringing himsell and other folk into collie- 
shangies.’ 

When Dandie Dinmont, after executing two or three capri- 
oles, and cutting the Highland fling, by way of ridicule of 
his wife’s anxiety, at last deigned to sit down and commit 
his round, black, shaggy bullet of a head to her inspection. 
Brown thought he had seen the regimental surgeon look 

157 


GUY MANNERING 


grave upon a more trifling case. The gudewife, however, 
showed some knowledge of chirurgery; she cut away with 
her scissors the gory locks whose stiffened and coagulated 
clusters interfered with her operations, and clapped on the 
wound some lint besmeared with a vulnerary salve, esteemed 
sovereign by the whole dale (which afforded upon fair nights 
considerable experience of such cases) ; she then fixed her 
plaster with a bandage, and, spite of her patient’s resistance, 
pulled over all a night-cap, to keep everything in its right 
place. Some contusions on the brow and shoulders she fo- 
mented with brandy, which the patient did not permit till the 
medicine had paid a heavy toll to his mouth. Mrs. Dinmont 
then simply, but kindly, offered her assistance to Brown. 

He assured her he had no occasion for anything but the 
accommodation of a basin and towel. 

And that’s what I should have thought of sooner,’ she 
said; 'and I did think o’t, but I durst na open the door, for 
there’s a’ the bairns, poor things, sae keen to see their father.’ 

This explained a great drumming and whining at the door 
of the little parlour, which had somewhat surprised Brown, 
though his kind landlady had only noticed it by fastening the 
bolt as soon as she heard it begin. But on her opening the 
door to seek the basin and towel (for she never thought of 
showing the guest to a separate room), a whole tide of white- 
headed urchins streamed in, some from the stable, where they 
had been seeing Dumple, and giving him a welcome home 
with part of their four-hours scones ; others from the kitchen, 
where they had been listening to auld Elspeth’s tales and bal- 
lads ; and the youngest, half-naked, out of bed, all roaring to 
see daddy, and to inquire what he had brought home for them 
from the various fairs he had visited in his peregrinations. 
Our knight of the broken head first kissed and hugged them 
all round, then distributed whistles, penny-trumpets, and 
gingerbread, and, lastly, when the tumult of their joy and 
welcome got beyond bearing, exclaimed to his guest — 'This is 
a’ the gudewife’s fault. Captain ; she -will gie the bairns a’ 
their ain way.’ 

'Me ! Lord help me,’ said Ailie, who at that instant entered 
with the basin and ewer, ‘how can I help it ? I have naething 
else to gie them, poor things !’ 

158 



Dandie Dinmont 



GUY MANNERING 


Dinmont then exerted himself, and, between coaxing, 
threats, and shoving, cleared the room of all the intruders 
excepting a boy and girl, the two eldest of the family, who 
could, as he observed, behave themselves ‘distinctly.’ For the 
same reason, but with less ceremony, all the dogs were kicked 
out excepting the venerable patriarchs, old Pepper and Mus- 
tard, whom frequent castigation and the advance of years 
had inspired with such a share of passive hospitality that, 
after mutual explanation and remonstrance in the shape of 
some growling, they admitted Wasp, who had hitherto 
judged it safe to keep beneath his master’s chair, to a share 
of a dried wedder’s skin, which, with the wool uppermost and 
unshorn, served all the purposes of a Bristol hearth-rug. 

The active bustle of the mistress (so she was called in the 
kitchen, and the gudewife in the parlour) had already signed 
the fate of a couple of fowls, which, for want of time to dress 
them otherwise, soon appeared reeking from the gridiron, or 
brander, as Mrs. Dinmont denominated it. A huge piece of 
cold beef-ham, eggs, butter, cakes, and barley-meal bannocks 
in plenty made up the entertainment, which was to be diluted 
with home-brewed ale of excellent quality and a case-bottle 
of brandy. Few soldiers would find fault with such cheer 
after a day’s hard exercise and a skirmish to boot; accord- 
ingly Brown did great honour to the eatables. While the 
gudewife partly aided, partly instructed, a great stout 
servant-girl, with cheeks as red as her top-knot, to remove 
the supper matters and supply sugar and hot water (which, 
in the damsel’s anxiety to gaze upon an actual live captain, 
she was in some danger of forgetting). Brown took an op- 
portunity to ask his host whether he did not repent of having 
neglected the gipsy’s hint. 

‘Wha kens?’ answered he; ‘they’re queer deevils; maybe 
I might just have ’scaped ae gang to meet the other. And 
yet ril no say that neither; for if that randy wife was com- 
ing to Charlie’s Hope, she should have a pint bottle o’ brandy 
and a pound o’ tobacco to wear her through the winter. 
They’re queer deevils ; as my auld father used to say, they’re 
warst where they’re warst guided. After a’, there’s baith 
gude and ill about the gipsies.’ 

This, and some other desultory conversation, served as a 

159 


GUY MANNERING 


‘shoeing-horn’ to draw on another cup of ale and another 
‘cheerer/ as Dinmont termed it in his country phrase, of 
brandy and water. Brown then resolutely declined all far- 
ther conviviality for that evening, pleading his own weariness 
and the effects of the skirmish, being well aware that it would 
have availed nothing to have remonstrated with his host on 
the danger that excess might have occasioned to his own raw 
wound and bloody coxcomb. A very small bed-room, but a 
very clean bed, received the traveller, and the sheets made 
good the courteous vaunt of the hostess, ‘that they would be 
as pleasant as he could find ony gate, for they were washed 
wi’ the fairy-well water, and bleached on the bonny white 
go wans, and bittled by Nelly and hersell, and what could 
woman, if she was a queen, do mair for them?' 

They indeed rivalled snow in whiteness, and had, besides, a 
pleasant fragrance from the manner in which they had been 
bleached. Little Wasp, after licking his master’s hand to ask 
leave, couched himself on the coverlet at his feet; and the 
traveller’s senses were soon lost in grateful oblivion. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Give ye, Britons, then, 

Your sportive fury, pitiless to pour 
Loose on the nightly robber of the fold. 

Him from his craggy winding haunts unearth’d, 

Let all the thunder of the chase pursue.. 

Thomson’s Seasons. 

B rown rose ^rly in the morning and walked out to look 

at the establishment of his new friend. All was rough ’ 
and neglected in the neighbourhood of the house; — a paltry 
garden, no pains taken to make the vicinity dry or comfort- i 
able, and a total absence of all those little neatnesses which 
give the eye so much pleasure in looking at an English farm- 
house. There were, notwithstanding, evident signs that this 
arose only from want of taste or ignorance, not from poverty 
or the negligence which attends it. On the contrary, a noble 
cow-house, well filled with good milk-cows, a feeding-house, 
with ten bullocks of the most approved breed, a stable, with 

i6o 


GUY MANNERING 


two good teams of horses, the appearance of domestics active, 
industrious, and apparently contented with their lot; in a 
word, an air of liberal though sluttish plenty indicated the 
wealthy farmer. The situation of the house above the river 
formed a gentle declivity, which relieved the inhabitants of 
the nuisances that might otherwise have stagnated around it. 
At a little distance was the whole band of children playing 
and building houses with peats around a huge doddered oak- 
tree, which was called Charlie’s Bush, from some tradition 
respecting an old freebooter who had once inhabited the spot. 
Between the farm-house and the hill-pasture was a deep 
morass, termed in that country a slack; it had once been the 
defence of a fortalice, of which no vestiges now remained, 
but which was said to have been inhabited by the same 
doughty hero we have now alluded to. Brown endeavoured 
to make some acquaintance with the children, but ‘the rogues 
fled from him like quick-silver,’ though the two eldest stood 
peeping when they had got to some distance. The traveller 
then turned his course towards the hill, crossing the foresaid 
swamp by a range of stepping-stones, neither the broadest 
nor steadiest that could be imagined. He had not climbed 
far up the hill when he met a man descending. 

He soon recognised his worthy host, though a ‘maud,’ as 
it is called, or a grey shepherd’s plaid, supplied his travelling 
jockey-coat, and a cap, faced with wild-cat’s fur, more com- 
modiously covered his bandaged head than a hat would have 
done. As he appeared through the morning mist. Brown, 
accustomed to judge of men by their thewes and sinews, 
could not help admiring his height, the breadth of his shoul- 
ders, and the steady firmness of his step. Dinmont internally 
paid the same compliment to Brown, whose athletic form he 
now perused somewhat more at leisure than he had done for- 
merly. After the usual greetings of the morning, the guest 
inquired whether his host found any inconvenient conse- 
quences from the last night’s affray. 

T had maist forgotten’t,’ said the hardy Borderer; ‘but I 
think this morning, now that I am fresh and sober, if you 
and I were at the Withershins’ Latch, wi’ ilka ane a gude oak 
souple in his hand, we wadna turn back, no for half a dizzen 

o’ yon scaff-raff.’ 

11 


i6i 


GUY MANNERING 


‘But are you prudent, my good sir,’ said Brown, ‘not to 
take an hour or two’s repose after receiving such severe con- 
tusions ?’ 

‘Confusions !’ replied the farmer, laughing in derision. 
‘Lord, Captain, naething confuses my head. I ance jumped 
up and laid the dogs on the fox after I had tumbled from the 
tap o’ Christenbury Craig, and that might have confused me 
to purpose. Na, naething confuses me, unless it be a screed 
o’ drink at an orra time. Besides, I behooved to be round 
the hirsel this morning and see how the herds were coming 
on; they’re apt to be negligent wi’ their footballs, and fairs, 
and trysts, when ane’s away. And there I met wi’ Tam o’ 
Todshaw, and a wheen o’ the rest o’ the billies on the water 
side; they’re a’ for a fox-hunt this morning, — ye’ll gang? 
I’ll gie ye Dumple, and take the brood mare mysell.’ 

‘But I fear I must leave you this morning, Mr. Dinmont,’ 
replied Brown. 

‘The fient a bit o’ that,’ exclaimed the Borderer. ‘I’ll no 
part wi’ ye at ony rate for a fortnight mair. Na, na; we 
dinna meet sic friends as you on a Bewcastle moss every 
night.’ 

Brown had not designed his journey should be a speedy 
one; he therefore readily compounded with this hearty invi- 
tation by agreeing to pass a week at Charlie’s Hope. 

On their return to the house, where the goodwife presided 
over an ample breakfast, she heard news of the proposed fox- 
hunt, not indeed with approbation, but without alarm or sur- 
prise. ‘Dand ! ye’re the auld man yet ; naething will make ye 
take warning till ye’re brought hame some day wi’ your feet 
foremost.’ 

‘Tut, lass !’ answered Dandie ; ‘ye ken yoursell I am never a 
prin the waur o’ my rambles.’ 

So saying, he exhorted Brown to be hasty in despatching 
his breakfast, as ‘the frost having given way, the scent would 
lie this morning primely.’ 

Out they sallied accordingly for Otterscope Scaurs, the 
farmer leading the way. They soon quitted the little valley, 
and involved themselves among hills as steep as they could 
be without being precipitous. The sides often presented gul- 
lies, down which, in the winter season, or after heavy rain, 

162 


GUY MANNERING 


the torrents descended with great fury. Some dappled mists 
still floated along the peaks of the hills, the remains of the 
morning clouds, for the frost had broken up with a smart 
shower. Through these fleecy screens were seen a hundred 
little temporary streamlets, or rills, descending the sides of 
the mountains like silver threads. By small sheep-tracks 
along these steeps, over which Dinmont trotted with the most 
fearless confidence, they at length drew near the scene of 
sport, and began to see other men, both on horse and foot, 
making toward the place of rendezvous. Brown was puz- 
zling himself to conceive how a fox-chase could take place 
among hills, where it was barely possible for a pony, accus- 
tomed to the ground, to trot along, but where, quitting the 
track for half a yard’s breadth, the rider might be either 
bogged or precipitated down the bank. This wonder was 
not diminished when he came to the place of action. 

They had gradually ascended very high, and now found 
themselves on a mountain-ridge, overhanging a glen of great 
depth, but extremely narrow. Here the sportsmen had col- 
lected, with an apparatus which would have shocked a mem- 
ber of the Pytchley Hunt; for, the object being the removal 
of a noxious and destructive animal, as well as the pleasures 
of the chase, poor Reynard was allowed much less fair play 
than when pursued in form through an open country. The 
strength of his habitation, however, and the nature of the 
ground by which it was surrounded on all sides, supplied 
what was wanting in the courtesy of his pursuers. The sides 
of the glen were broken banks of earth and rocks of rotten 
stone, which sunk sheer down to the little winding stream 
below, affording here and there a tuft of scathed brushwood 
or a watch of furze. Along the edges of this ravine, which, 
as we have said, was very narrow, but of profound depth, the 
hunters on horse and foot ranged themselves; almost every 
farmer had with him at least a brace of large and fierce grey- 
hounds, of the race of those deer-dogs which were formerly 
used in that country, but greatly lessened in size from being 
crossed with the common breed. The huntsman, a sort of 
provincial officer of the district, who receives a certain sup- 
ply of meal, and a reward for every fox he destroys, was 
already at the bottom of the dell, whose echoes thundered to 

163 


GUY MANNERING 


the chiding of two or three brace of fox-hounds. Terriers, 
including the whole generation of Pepper and Mustard, were 
also in attendance, having been sent forward under the care 
of a shepherd. Mongrel, whelp, and cur of low degree filled 
up the burden of the chorus. The spectators on the brink of 
the ravine, or glen, held their greyhounds in leash in readi- 
ness to slip them at the fox as soon as the activity of the 
party below should force him to abandon his cover. 

The scene, though uncouth to the eye of a professed sports- 
man, had something in it wildly captivating. The shifting 
figures on the mountain ridge, having the sky for their back- 
ground, appeared to move in the air. The dogs, impatient of 
their restraint, and maddened with the baying beneath, 
sprung here and there, and strained at the slips, which pre- 
vented them from joining their companions. Looking down, 
the view was equally striking. The thin mists were not to- 
tally dispersed in the glen, so that it was often through their 
gauzy medium that the eye strove to discover the motions of 
the hunters below. Sometimes a breath of wind made the 
scene visible, the blue rill glittering as it twined itself through 
its rude and solitary dell. They then could see the shep- 
herds springing with fearless activity from one dangerous 
point to another, and cheering the dogs on the scent, the 
whole so diminished by depth and distance that they looked 
like pigmies. Again the mists close over them, and the only 
signs of their continued exertions are the halloos of the men 
and the clamours of the hounds, ascending as it were out of 
the bowels of the earth. When the fox, thus persecuted 
from one stronghold to another, was at length obliged to 
abandon his valley, and to break away for a more distant 
retreat, those who watched his motions from the top slipped 
their greyhounds, which, excelling the fox in swiftness, and 
equalling him in ferocity and spirit, soon brought the plun- 
derer to his life’s end. 

In this way, without any attention to the ordinary rules 
and decorums of sport, but apparently as much to the grati- 
fication both of bipeds and quadrupeds as if all due ritual had 
been followed, four foxes were killed on this active morning ; 
and even Brown himself, though he had seen the princely 
sports of India, and ridden a-tiger-hunting upon an elephant 

164 


GUY MANNERING 


with the Nabob of Arcot, professed to have received an ex- 
cellent morning’s amusement. When the sport was given up 
for the day, most of the sportsmen, according to the estab- 
lished hospitality of the country, went to dine at Charlie’s 
Hope. 

During their return homeward Brown rode for a short time 
beside the huntsman, and asked him some questions concern- 
ing the mode in which he exercised his profession. The man 
showed an unwillingness to meet his eye, and a disposition to 
be rid of his company and conversation, for which Brown 
could not easily account. He was a thin, dark, active fellow, 
well framed for the hardy profession which he exercised. 
But his face had not the frankness of the jolly hunter; he was 
down-looked, embarrassed, and avoided the eyes of those 
who looked hard at him. After some unimportant observa- 
tions on the success of the day. Brown gave him a trifling 
gratuity, and rode on with his landlord. They found the 
goodwife prepared for their reception ; the fold and the poul- 
try-yard furnished the entertainment, and the kind and hearty 
welcome made amends for all deficiencies in elegance and 
fashion. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

The Elliots and Armstrongs did convene, 

They were a gallant company! 

Ballad of Johnnie Armstrong. 

ITHOUT noticing the occupations of an intervening 



day or two, which, as they consisted of the ordinary 


silvan amusements of shooting and coursing, have nothing 
sufficiently interesting to detain the reader, we pass to one in 
some degree peculiar to Scotland, which may be called a sort 
of salmon-hunting. This chase, in which the fish is pursued 
and struck with barbed spears, or a sort of long-shafted tri- 
dent, called a waster, is much practised at the mouth of the 
Esk and in the other salmon rivers of Scotland. The sport 
is followed by day and night, but most commonly in the lat- 
ter, when the fish are discovered by means of torches, or fire- 
grates, filled with blazing fragments of tar-barrels, which 


165 


GUY MANNERING 


shed a strong though partial light upon the water. On the 
present occasion the principal party were embarked in a crazy 
boat upon a part of the river which was enlarged and deep- 
ened by the restraint of a mill-wear, while others, like the an- 
cient Bacchanals in their gambols, ran along the banks, 
brandishing their torches and spears, and pursuing the sal- 
mon, some of which endeavoured to escape up the stream, 
while others, shrouding themselves under roots of trees, frag- 
ments of stones, and large rocks, attempted to conceal them- 
selves from the researches of the fishermen. These the party 
in the boat detected by the slightest indications ; the twinkling 
of a fin, the rising of an air-bell, was sufficient to point out to 
these adroit sportsmen in what direction to use their weapon. 

The scene was inexpressibly animating to those accustomed 
to it ; but, as Brown was not practised to use the spear, he 
soon tired of making efforts which were attended with no 
other consequences than jarring his arms against the rocks at 
the bottom of the river, upon which, instead of the devoted 
salmon, he often bestowed his blow. Nor did he relish, 
though he concealed feelings which would not have been un- 
derstood, being quite so near the agonies of the expiring sal- 
mon, as they lay flapping about in the boat, which they mois- 
tened with their blood. He therefore requested to be put 
ashore, and, from the top of a heugh or broken bank, enjoyed 
the scene much more to his satisfaction. Often he thought 
of his friend Dudley the artist, when he observed the effect 
produced by the strong red glare on the romantic banks 
under which the boat glided. Now the light diminished to a 
distant star that seemed to twinkle on the waters, like those 
which, according to the legends of the country, the water- 
kelpy sends for the purpose of indicating the watery grave of 
his victims. Then it advanced nearer, brightening and en- 
larging as it again approached, till the broad flickering flame 
rendered bank and rock, and tree visible as it passed, tingeing 
them with its own red glare of dusky light, and resigning 
them gradually to darkness, or to pale moonlight, as it re- 
ceded. By this light also were seen the figures in the boat, 
now holding high their weapons, now stooping to strike, now 
standing upright, bronzed by the same red glare into a colour 
which might have befitted the regions of Pandemonium. 

i66 


GUY MANNERING 


Having amused himself for some time with these effects of 
light and shadow, Brown strolled homewards towards the 
farm-house, gazing in his way at the persons engaged in the 
sport, two or three of whom are generally kept together, one 
holding the torch, the others with their spears, ready to avail 
themselves of the light it affords to strike their prey. As he 
observed one man struggling with a very weighty salmon 
which he had speared, but was unable completely to raise 
from the water. Brown advanced close to tlje bank to see the 
issue of his exertions. The man who held the torch in this 
instance was the huntsman, whose sulky demeanour Brown 
had already noticed with surprise. ‘Come here, sir! come 
here, sir! look at this ane! He turns up a side like a sow.’ 
Such was the cry from the assistants when some of them 
observed Brown advancing. 

‘Ground the waster weel, man! ground the waster weel! 
Haud him down ! Ye haena the pith o’ a cat !’ were the 
cries of advice, encouragement, and expostulation from those 
who were on the bank to the sportsman engaged with the 
salmon, who stood up to his middle in water, jingling among 
broken ice, struggling against the force of the fish and the 
strength of the current, and dubious in what manner he 
should attempt to secure his booty. As Brown came to the 
edge of the bank, he called out — ‘Hold up your torch, friend 
huntsman !’ for he had already distinguished his dusky fea- 
tures by the strong light cast upon them by the blaze. But 
the fellow no sooner heard his voice, and saw, or rather con- 
cluded, it was Brown who approached him, than, instead of 
advancing his light, he let it drop, as if accidentally, into the 
water. 

‘The deil’s in Gabriel !’ said the spearman, as the fragments 
of glowing wood floated half-blazing, half-sparkling, but 
soon extinguished, down the stream. ‘The deil’s in the man ! 
I’ll never master him without the light ; and a braver kipper, 
could I but land him, never reisted abune a pair o’ cleeks.’^ 
Some dashed into the water to lend their assistance, and the 
fish, which was afterwards found to weigh nearly thirty 
pounds, was landed in safety. 


^ See Lum Geeks. Note 4. 


167 


GUY MANNERING 


The behaviour of the huntsman struck Brown, although he 
had no recollection of his face, nor could conceive why he 
should, as it appeared he evidently did, shun his observation. 
Could he be one of the footpads he had encountered a few 
days before? The supposition was not altogether improb- 
able, although unwarranted by any observation he was able 
to make upon the man’s figure and face. To be sure the vil- 
lains wore their hats much slouched, and had loose coats, and 
their size was not in any way so peculiarly discriminated as 
to enable him to resort to that criterion. He resolved to 
speak to his host Dinmont on the subject, but for obvious 
reasons concluded it were best to defer the explanation until 
a cool hour in the morning. 

The sportsmen returned loaded with fish, upwards of one 
hundred salmon having been killed within the range of their 
sport. The best were selected for the use of the principal 
farmers, the others divided among their shepherds, cottars, 
dependents, and others of inferior rank who attended. These 
fish, dried in the turf smoke of their cabins or shealings, 
formed a savoury addition to the mess of potatoes, mixed 
with onions, which was the principal part of their winter 
food. In the meanwhile a liberal distribution of ale and 
whisky was made among them, besides what was called a 
kettle of fish, — two or three salmon, namely, plunged into a 
cauldron and boiled for their supper. Brown accompanied 
his jolly landlord and the rest of his friends into the large 
and smoky kitchen, where this savoury mess reeked on an 
oaken table, massive enough to have dined Johnnie Arm- 
strong and his merry-rtien. All was hearty cheer and huzza, 
and jest and clamorous laughter, and bragging alternately, 
and raillery between whiles. Our traveller looked earnestly 
around for the dark countenance of the fox-hunter; but it 
was nowhere to be seen. 

At length he hazarded a question concerning him. ‘That 
was an awkward accident, my lads, of one of you, who 
dropped his torch in the water when his companion was 
struggling with the large fish.’ 

‘Awkward!’ returned a shepherd, looking up (the same 
stout young fellow who had speared the salmon) ; ‘he de- 
served his paiks for’t, to put out the light when the fish was 

i68 


GUY MANNERING 


on ane’s witters ! I’m weel convinced Gabriel drapped the 
roughies in the water on purpose; he doesna like to see ony 
body do a thing better than himselL’ 

Ay,’ said another, ‘he’s sair shamed o’ himsell, else he 
would have been up here the night; Gabriel likes a little o’ 
the gude thing as weel as ony o’ us.’ 

‘Is he of this country?’ said Brown. 

‘Na, na, he’s been but shortly in office, but he’s a fell 
hunter; he’s frae down the country, some gate on the Dum- 
fries side.’ 

‘And what’s his name, pray?’ 

‘Gabriel.’ 

‘But Gabriel what?’ 

‘Oh, Lord kens that; we dinna mind folk’s afternames 
muckle here, they run sae muckle into clans.’ 

‘Ye see, sir,’ said an old shepherd, rising, and speaking 
very slow, ‘the folks hereabout are a’ Armstrongs and El- 
liots,^ and sic like — twa or three given names — and so, for 
distinction’s sake, the lairds and farmers have the names of 
their places that they live at; as, for example, Tam o’ Tod- 
shaw. Will o’ the Flat, Hobbie o’ Sorbietrees, and our good 
master here o’ the Charlie’s Hope. Aweel, sir, and then the 
inferior sort o’ people ye’ll observe, are kend by sorts o’ by- 
names some o’ them, as Glaiket Christie, and the Deuke’s 
Davie, or maybe, like this lad Gabriel, by his employment ; as, 
for example. Tod Gabbie, or Hunter Gabbie. He’s no been 
lang here, sir, and I dinna think ony body kens him by ony 
other name. But it’s no right to rin him doun ahint his back, 
for he’s a fell fox-hunter, though he’s maybe no just sae 
clever as some o’ the folk hereawa wi’ the waster.’ 

After some further desultory conversation, the superior 
sportsmen retired to conclude the evening after their own 
manner, leaving the others to enjoy themselves, unawed by 
their presence. That evening, like all those which Brown 
had passed at Charlie’s Hope, was spent in much innocent 
mirth and conviviality. The latter might have approached 
to the verge of riot but for the good women ; for several of 
the neighbouring mistresses ( a phrase of a signification how 

^ See Clan Surnames. Note 5. 


169 


GUY MANNERING 


different from what it bears in more fashionable life!) had 
assembled at Charlie’s Hope to witness the event of this 
memorable evening. Finding the punch-bowl was so often 
replenished that there was some danger of their gracious 
presence being forgotten, they rushed in valorously upon the 
recreant revellers, headed by our good mistress Ailie, so that 
Venus speedily routed Bacchus. The fiddler and piper next 
made their appearance, and the best part of the night was 
gallantly consumed in dancing to their music. 

An otter-hunt the next day, and a badger-baiting the day 
after, consumed the time merrily. I hope our traveller will 
not sink in the reader’s estimation, sportsman though he may 
be, when I inform him that on this last occasion, after young 
Pepper had lost a fore-foot and Mustard the second had been 
nearly throttled, he begged, as a particular and personal fa- 
vour of Mr. Dinmont, that the poor badger, who had made 
so gallant a defence, should be permitted to retire to his earth 
without farther molestation. 

The farmer, who would probably have treated this request 
with supreme contempt had it come from any other person, 
was contented in Brown’s case to express the utter extremity 
of his wonder. ‘Weel,’ he said, ‘that’s queer aneugh ! But 
since ye take his part, deil a tyke shall meddle wi’ him mair 
in my day. We’ll e’en mark him, and ca’ him the Captain’s 
brock; and I’m sure I’m glad I can do ony thing to oblige 
you, — but. Lord save us, to care about a brock I’ 

After a week spent in rural sport, and distinguished by 
the most frank attentions on the part of his honest landlord, 
Brown bade adieu to the banks of the Liddel and the hospi- 
tality of Charlie’s Hope. The children, with all of whom he 
had now become an intimate and a favourite, roared manfully 
in full chorus at his departure, and he was obliged to prom- 
ise twenty times that he would soon return and play over all 
their favourite tunes upon the flageolet till they had got them 
by heart. ‘Come back again. Captain,’ said one little sturdy 
fellow, ‘and Jenny will be your wife.’ Jenny was about 
eleven ears old ; she ran and hid herself behind her mammy. 

‘Captain, come back,’ said a little fat roll-about girl of six, 
holding her mouth up to be kissed, ‘and I’ll be your wife my 
ainsell.’ 

170 


GUY MANNERING 


‘They must he of harder mould than 1/ thought Brown, 
‘who could part from so many kind hearts with indifference/ 
The good dame too, with matron modesty, and an affection- 
ate simplicity that marked the olden time, offered her 
cheek to the departing guest. ‘It’s little the like of us can 
do,’ she said, ‘little indeed; but yet, if there were but ony 
thing ’ 

‘Now, my dear Mrs. Dinmont, you embolden me to make a 
request: would you but have the kindness to weave me, or 
work me, just such a grey plaid as the goodman wears?’ He 
had learned the language and feelings of the country even 
during the short time of his residence, and was aware of the 
pleasure the request would confer. 

‘A tait o’ woo’ would be scarce amang us,’ said the good- 
wife, brightening, ‘if ye shouldna hae that, and as gude a 
tweel as ever cam aff a pirn. I’ll speak to Johnnie Goodsire, 
the weaver at the Castletown, the morn. Fare ye weel, sir ! 
and may ye be just as happy yoursell as ye like to see a’ body 
else ; and that would be a sair wish to some folk.’ 

I must not omit to mention that our traveller left his trusty 
attendant Wasp to be a guest at Charlie’s Hope for a season. 
He foresaw that he might prove a troublesome attendant in 
the event of his being in any situation where secrecy and 
concealment might be necessary. He was therefore con- 
signed to the care of the eldest boy, who promised, in the 
words of the old song, that he should have 

A bit of his supper, a bit of his bed, 

and that he should be engaged in none of those perilous pas- 
times in which the race of Mustard and Pepper had suffered 
frequent mutilation. Brown now prepared for his journey, 
having taken a temporary farewell of his trusty little com- 
panion. 

There is an odd prejudice in these hills in favour of riding. 
Every farmer rides well, and rides the whole day. Probably 
the extent of their large pasture farms, and the necessity of 
surveying them rapidly, first introduced this custom ; or a 
very zealous antiquary might derive it from the times of the 
Lay of the Last Minstrel, when twenty thousand horsemen 

171 


GUY MANNERING 


assembled at the light of the beacon-fires.^ But the truth is 
undeniable; they like to be on horseback, and can be with 
difficulty convinced that any one chooses walking from other 
motives than those of convenience or necessity. Accord- 
ingly, Dinmont insisted upon mounting his guest and accom- 
panying him on horseback as far as the nearest town in 
Dumfries-shire, where he had directed his baggage to be sent, 
and from which he proposed to pursue his intended journey 
towards Woodbourne, the residence of Julia Mannering. 

Upon the way he questioned his companion concerning the 
character of the fox-hunter; but gained little information, as 
he had been called to that office while Dinmont was making 
the round of the Highland fairs. ‘He was a shake-rag like 
fellow,’ he said, ‘and, he dared to say, had gipsy blood in his 
veins; but at ony rate he was nane o’ the snaiks that had 
been on their quarters in the moss ; he would ken them weel 
if he saw them again. There are some no bad folk amang 
the gipsies too, to be sic a gang,’ added Dandie ; ‘if ever I see 
that auld randle-tree of a wife again, I’ll gie her something 
to buy tobacco, I have a great notion she meant me very fair 
after a’.’ 

When they were about finally to part, the good farmer held 
Brown long by the hand, and at length said, ‘Captain, the 
woo’s sae weel up the year that it’s paid a’ the rent, and we 
have naething to do wi’ the rest o’ the siller when Ailie has 
had her new gown, and the bairns their bits o’ duds. Now I 
was thinking of some safe hand to put it into, for it’s ower 
muckle to ware on brandy and sugar ; now I have heard that 
you army gentlemen can sometimes buy yoursells up a step, 
and if a hundred or twa would help ye on such an occasion, 
the bit scrape o’ your pen would be as good to me as the 
siller, and ye might just take yer ain time o’ settling it; it 
wad be a great convenience to me.’ Brown, who felt the full 
delicacy that wished to disguise the conferring an obligation 
under the show of asking a favour, thanked his grateful 


Ut would be affectation to alter this reference. But the reader 
will understand that it was inserted to keep "up the author’s incognito, 
as he was not likely to be suspected of quoting his own words. This 
explanation is also applicable to one or two similar passages, in this 
and the other novels, introduced for the same reason. 

172 


GUY MANNERING 


friend most heartily, and assured him he would have recourse 
to his purse without scruple should circumstances ever render 
it convenient for him. And thus they parted with many ex- 
pressions of mutual regard. 


^ CHAPTER XXVII. 

If thou hast any love of mercy in thee, 

Turn me upon my face that I may die. 

Joanna Baillie. 

O UR traveller hired a post-chaise at the place where he 
separated from Dinmont, with the purpose of pro- 
ceeding to Kippletringan, there to inquire into the state of 
the family at Woodbourne, before he should venture to make 
his presence in the country known to Miss Mannering. The 
stage was a long one of eighteen or twenty miles, and the 
road lay across the country. To add to the inconveniences of 
the journey, the snow began to fall pretty quickly. The pos- 
tilion, however, proceeded on his journey for a good many 
miles without expressing doubt or hesitation. It was not 
until the night was completely set in that he intimated his 
apprehensions whether he was in the right road. The in- 
creasing snow rendered this intimation rather alarming, for, 
as it drove full in the lad’s face and lay whitening all around 
him, it served in two different ways to confuse his knowledge 
of the country, and to diminish the chance of his recovering 
the right track. Brown then himself got out and looked 
round, 5iot, it may be well imagined, from any better hope 
than that of seeing some house at which he might make in- 
quiry. But none appeared; he could therefore only tell the 
lad to drive steadily on. The road on which they were ran 
through plantations of considerable extent and depth, and 
the traveller therefore conjectured that there must be a gen- 
tleman’s house at no great distance. At length, after strug- 
gling wearily on for about a mile, the post-boy stopped, and 
protested his horses would not budge a foot farther; 'but he 
saw,’ he said, 'a light among the trees, which must proceed 
from a house; the only way was to inquire the road there.’ 
Accordingly, he dismounted, heavily encumbered with a long 

173 


GUY MANNERING 


great-coat and a pair of boots which might have rivalled in 
thickness the seven-fold shield of Ajax. As in this guise he 
was plodding forth upon his voyage of discovery, Brown’s 
impatience prevailed, and, jumping out of the carriage, he 
desired the lad to stop where he was by the horses, and he 
would himself go to the house; a command which the driver 
most joyfully obeyed. 

Our traveller groped along the side of the inclosure from 
which the light glimmered, in order to find some mode of 
approaching in that direction, and, after proceeding for some 
space, at length found a stile in the hedge, and a pathway 
leading into the plantation, which in that place was of great 
extent. This promised to lead to the light which was the 
object of his search, and accordingly Brown proceeded in 
that direction, but soon totally lost sight of it among the 
trees. The path, which at first seemed broad and well 
marked by the opening of the wood through which it winded, 
was now less easily distinguishable, although the whiteness of 
the snow afforded some reflected light to assist his search. 
Directing himself as much as possible through the more open 
parts of the wood, he proceeded almost a mile without either 
recovering a view of the light or seeing anything resembling a 
habitation. Still, however, he thought it best to persevere in 
that direction. It must surely have been a light in the hut 
of a forester, for it shone too steadily to be the glimmer of 
an ignis fatuus. The ground at length became broken and 
declined rapidly, asid, although Brown conceived he still 
moved along what had once at least been a pathway, it was 
now very unequal, and the snow concealing those branches 
and inequalities, the traveller had one or two falls in conse- 
quence. He began now to think of turning back, especially 
as the falling snow, which his impatience had hitherto pre- 
vented his attending to, was coming on thicker and faster. 

Willing, however, to make a last effort, he still advanced 
a little way, when to his great ddight he beheld the light 
opposite at no great distance, and apparently upon a level 
with him. He quickly found that this last appearance was 
deception, for the ground continued so rapidly to sink as 
made it obvious there was a deep dell, or ravine of some kind, 
between him and the object of his search. Taking every pre- 

174 


GUY MANNERING 


caution to preserve his footing, he continued to descend until 
he reached the bottom of a very steep and narrow glen, 
through which winded a small rivulet, whose course was then 
almost choked with snow. He now found himself embar- 
rassed among the ruins of cottages, whose black gables, ren- 
dered more distinguishable by the contrast with the whitened 
surface from which they rose, were still standing; the side- 
walls had long since given way to time, and, piled in shape- 
less heaps and covered with snow, offered frequent and em- 
barrassing obstacles to our traveller’s progress. Still, how- 
ever, he persevered, crossed the rivulet, not without some 
trouble, and at length, by exertions which became both pain- 
ful and perilous, ascended its opposite and very rugged bank, 
until he came on a level with the building from which the 
gleam proceeded. 

It was difficult, especially by so imperfect a light, to dis- 
cover the nature of this edifice ; but it seemed a square build- 
ing of small size, the upper part of which was totally ruinous. 
It had, perhaps, been the abode in former times of some lesser 
proprietor, or a place of strength and concealment, in case of 
need, for one of greater importance. But only the lower 
vault remained, the arch of which formed the roof in the 
present state of the building. Brown first approached the 
place from whence the light proceeded, which was a long 
narrow slit or loop-hole, such as usually are to be found in 
old castles. Impelled by curiosity to reconnoitre the interior 
of this strange place before he entered. Brown gazed in at 
this aperture. A scene of greater desolation could not well 
be imagined. There was a fire upon the floor, the smoke of 
which, after circling through the apartment, escaped by a 
hole broken in the arch above. The walls, seen by this 
smoky light, had the rude and waste appearance of a ruin of 
three centuries old at least. A cask or two, with some bro- 
ken boxes and packages, lay about the place in confusion. 
But the inmates chiefly occupied Brown’s attention. Upon 
a lair composed of straw, with a blanket stretched over it, 
lay a figure, so still that, except that it was not dressed in the 
ordinary habiliments of the grave. Brown would have con- 
cluded it to be a corpse. On a steadier view he perceived 
it was only on the point of becoming so, for he heard one or 

175 


GUY MANNERING 


two of those low, deep, and hard-drawn sighs that precede 
dissolution when the frame is tenacious of life. A female 
figure, dressed in a long cloak, sate on a stone by this mis- 
erable couch ; her elbows rested upon her knees, and her face, 
averted from the light of an iron lamp beside her, was bent 
upon that of the dying person. She moistened his mouth 
from time to time with some liquid, and between whiles sung, 
in a low monotonous cadence, one of those prayers, or rather 
spells, which, in some parts of Scotland and the north of 
England, are used by the vulgar and ignorant to speed the 
passage of a parting spirit, like the tolling of the bell in Cath- 
olic days. She accompanied this dismal sound with a slow 
rocking motion of her body to and fro, as if to keep time with 
her song. The words ran nearly thus : — 

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay. 

Wrestling thus with earth and clay? 

From the body pass away. 

Hark! the mass is singing. 

From thee doff thy mortal weed, 

Mary Mother be thy speed, 

Saints to help thee at thy need. 

Hark! the knell is ringing. 

Fear not snow-drift, driving fast. 

Sleet, or hail, or levin blast. 

Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast. 

And the sleep be on thee cast 
That shall ne’er know waking. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone. 

Earth flits fast, and time draws on. 

Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan. 

Day is near the breaking. 

The songstress paused, and was answered by one or two 
deep and hollow groans, that seemed to proceed from the 
very agony of the mortal strife. Tt will not be,’ she mut- 
tered to herself ; ‘he cannot pass away with that on his mind, 
it tethers him here — 

Heaven cannot abide it. 

Earth refuses to hide iU 

I must open the door’; and, rising, she faced towards the 

' See Gipsy Superstitions., Note 6. 

176 


GUY MANNERING 


door of the apartment, observing heedfully not to turn back 
her head, and, withdrawing a bolt or two (for, notwithstand- 
ing the miserable appearance of the place, the door was cau- 
tiously secured), she lifted the latch, saying, 

‘ Open lock, end strife, 

Come death, and pass life/ 

Brown, who had by this time moved from his post, stood 
before her as she opened the door. She stepped back a pace, 
and he entered, instantly recognising, but with no comfort- 
able sensation, the same gipsy woman whom he had met in 
Bewcastle. She also knew him at once, and her attitude, fig- 
ure, and the anxiety of her countenance, assumed the appear- 
ance of the well-disposed ogress of a fairy tale, warning a 
stranger not to enter the dangerous castle of her husband. 
The first words she spoke (holding up her hands in a re- 
proving manner) were, ‘Said I not to ye. Make not, meddle 
not? Beware of the redding straik!^ You are come to no 
house o’ fair-strae death.’ So saying, she raised the lamp 
and turned its light on the dying man, whose rude and harsh 
features were now convulsed with the last agony. A roll of 
linen about his head was stained with blood, which had 
soaked also through the blankets and the straw. It was, in- 
deed, under no natural disease that the wretch was suffering. 
Brown started back from this horrible object, and, turning to 
the gipsy, exclaimed, ‘Wretched woman, who has done this ?’ 

‘They that were permitted,’ answered Meg Merrilies, while 
she scanned with a close and keen glance the features of the 
expiring man. ‘He has had a sair struggle ; but it’s passing. 
I kenn’d he would pass when you came in. That was the 
death-ruckle ; he’s dead.’ 

Sounds were now heard at a distance, as of voices. ‘They 
are coming,’ said she to Brown; ‘you are a dead man if ye 
had as mony lives as hairs.’ Brown eagerly looked round for 
some weapon of defence. There was none near. He then 
rushed to the door with the intention of plunging among the 
trees, and making his escape by flight from what he now es- 

^ The redding straik, namely, a blow received by a peacemaker who 
interferes between two combatants, to red or separate them,^ is pro- 
verbially said to be the most dangerous blow a man can receive. 


GUY MANNERING 


teemed a den of murderers, but Merrilies held him with a 
masculine grasp. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘here, be still and you are 
safe; stir not, whatever you see or hear, and nothing shall 
befall you.’ 

Brown, in these desperate circumstances, remembered this 
woman’s intimation formerly, and thought he had no chance 
of safety but in obeying her. She caused him to couch 
down among a parcel of straw on the opposite side of the 
apartment from the corpse, covered him carefully, and flung 
over him two or three old sacks which lay about the place. 
Anxious to observe what was to happen. Brown arranged as 
softly as he could the means of peeping from under the cov- 
erings by which he was hidden, and awaited with a throbbing 
heart the issue of this strange and most unpleasant adven- 
ture. The old gipsy in the meantime set about arranging the 
dead body, composing its limbs, and straighting the arms by 
its side. ‘Best to do this,’ she muttered, ‘ere he stiffen.’ She 
placed on the dead man’s breast a trencher, with salt 
sprinkled upon it, set one candle at the head and another 
at the feet of the body, and lighted both. Then she resumed 
her song, and awaited the approach of those whose voices 
had been heard without. 

Brown was a soldier, and a brave one; but he was also 
a man, and at this moment his fears mastered his courage so 
completely that the cold drops burst out from every pore. 
The idea of being dragged out of his miserable concealment 
by wretches whose trade was that of midnight murder, with- 
out weapons or the slightest means of defence, except en- 
treaties, which would be only their sport, and cries for help, 
which could never reach other ears than their own ; his safety 
entrusted to the precarious compassion of a being associated 
with these felons, and whose trade of rapine and imposture 
must have hardened her against every human feeling — the 
bitterness of his emotions almost choked him. He endeav- 
oured to read in her withered and dark countenance, as the 
lamp threw its light upon her features, something that prom- 
ised those feelings of compassion which females, even in their 
most degraded state, can seldom altogether smother. There 
was no such touch of humanity about this woman. The in- 
terest, whatever it was, that determined her in his favour 

178 



“ They are coming ! ” 

“ You are a dead man, if ye had as mony lives as hairs ! ” 





GUY MANNERING 


arose not from the impulse of compassion, but from some in- 
ternal, and probably capricious, association of feelings, to 
which he had no clue. It rested, perhaps, on a fancied like- 
ness, such as Lady Macbeth found to her father in the sleep- 
ing monarch. Such were the reflections that passed in rapid 
succession through Brown’s mind as he gazed from his hid- 
ing-place upon this extraordinary personage. Meantime the 
gang did not yet approach, and he was almost prompted to 
resume his original intention of attempting an escape from 
the hut, and cursed internally his own irresolution, which had 
consented to his being cooped up where he had neither room 
for resistance nor flight. 

Meg Merrilies seemed equally on the watch. She bent her 
ear to every sound that whistled round the old walls. Then 
she turned again to the dead body, and found something new 
to arrange or alter in its position. ‘He’s a bonny corpse,’ she 
muttered to herself, ‘and weel worth the streaking.’ And in 
this dismal occupation she appeared to feel a sort of profes- 
sional pleasure, entering slowly into all the minutiae, as if 
with the skill and feelings of a connoisseur. A long, dark- 
coloured sea-cloak, which she dragged out of a corner, was 
disposed for a pall. The face she left bare, after closing the 
mouth and eyes, and arranged the capes of the cloak so as to 
hide the bloody bandages, and give the body, as she mut- 
tered, ‘a mair decent appearance.’ 

At once three or four men, equally ruffians in appearance 
and dress, rushed into the hut. ‘Meg, ye limb of Satan, how 
dare you leave the door open ?’ was the first salutation of the 
party. 

‘And wha ever heard of a door being barred when a man 
was in the dead-thraw? how d’ye think the spirit was to get 
awa through bolts and bars like thae?’ 

‘Is he dead, then?’ said one who went to the side of the 
couch to look at the body. 

‘Ay, ay, dead enough,’ said another ; ‘but here’s what shall 
give him a rousing lykewake.’ So saying, he fetched a keg 
of spirits from a corner, while Meg hastened to display pipes 
and tobacco. From the activity with which she undertook 
the task, Brown conceived good hope of her fidelity towards 
her guest. It was obvious that she wished to engage the ruf- 

179 


GUY MANNERING 


fians in their debauch, to prevent the discovery which might 
take place if by accident any of them should approach too 
nearly the place of Brown’s concealment. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

Nor board nor garner own we now. 

Nor roof nor latched door. 

Nor kind mate, bound, by holy vow. 

To bless a good man’s store. 

Noon lulls us in a gloomy den. 

And night is grown our day; 

Uprouse ye, then, my merry men ! 

And use it as ye may. 

Joanna Bailue. 

B rown couM now reckon his foes: they were five in 
number; two of them were very powerful men, who 
appeared to be either real seamen or strollers who assumed 
that character; the other three, an old man and two lads, 
were slighter made, and, from their black hair and dark com- 
plexion, seemed to belong to Meg’s tribe. They passed from 
one to another the cup out of which they drank their spirits. 
‘Here’s to his good voyage!’ said one of the seamen, drink- 
ing; ‘a squally night he’s got, however, to drift through the 
sky in.’ 

We omit here various execrations with which these hon- 
est gentlemen garnished their discourse, retaining only such 
of their expletives as are least offensive. 

‘ ’A does not mind wind and weather ; ’a has had many a 
north-easter in his day.’ 

‘He had his last yesterday,’ said another gruffly ; ‘and now 
old Meg may pray for his last fair wind, as she’s often done 
before.’ 

‘I’ll pray for nane o’ him,’ said Meg, ‘nor for you neither, 
you randy dog. The times are sair altered since I was a 
kinchen-mort. Men were men then, and fought other in the 
open field, and there was nae milling in the darkmans. And 
the gentry had kind hearts, and would have given baith lap 
and pannel to ony puir gipsy; and there was not one, from 
Johnnie Faa the upright man to little Christie that was in 

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GUY MANNERING 


the panniers, would cloyed a dud from them. But ye are a’ 
altered from the gude auld rules, and no wonder that you 
scour the cramp-ring and trine to the cheat sae often. Yes, 
ye are a’ altered : you’ll eat the goodman’s meat, drink his 
drink, sleep on the strammel in his barn, and break his house 
and cut his throat for his pains ! There’s blood on your 
hands, too, ye dogs, mair than ever came there by fair fight- 
ing. See how ye’ll die then. Lang it was ere he died; he 
strove, and strove sair, and could neither die nor live; but 
you — half the country will see how ye’ll grace the woodie.’ 

The party set up a horse laugh at. Meg’s prophecy. 

'What made you come back here, ye auld beldam?’ said 
one of the gipsies; ‘could ye not have staid where you were, 
and spaed fortunes to the Cumberland flats? Bing out and 
tour, ye auld devil, and see that nobody has scented; that’s 
a’ you’re good for now.’ 

‘Is that a’ I am good for now ?’ said the indignant matron. 
‘I was good for mair than that in the great fight between our 
folk and Patrico Salmon’s ; if I had not helped you with these 
very f ambles (holding up her hands), Jean Baillie would 
have frummagem’d you, ye feckless do-little !’ 

There was here another laugh at the expense of the hero 
who had received this amazon’s assistance. 

‘Here, mother,’ said one of the sailors, ‘here’s a cup of the 
right for you, and never mind that bully-huff.’ 

Meg drank the spirits, and, withdrawing herself from far- 
ther conversation, sat down before the spot where Brown lay 
hid, in such a posture that it would have been difficult Tor 
any one to have approached it without her rising. The men, 
however, showed no disposition to disturb her. 

They closed around the fire and held deep consultation to- 
gether; but the low tone in which they spoke, and the cant 
language which they used, prevented Brown from under- 
standing much of their conversation. He gathered in gen- 
eral that they expressed great indignation against some 
individual. ‘He shall have his gruel,’ said one, and then 
whispered something very low into the ear of his comrade. 

‘I’ll have nothing to do with that,’ said the other. 

‘Are you turned hen-hearted. Jack?’ 

‘No, by G — d, no more than yourself, but I won’t. It was 
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GUY MANNERING 


something like that stopped all the trade fifteen or twenty 
years ago. You have heard of the Loup?’ 

‘I have heard him (indicating the corpse by a jerk of his 
head) tell about that job. G — d, how he used to laugh when 
he showed us how he fetched him off the perch !’ 

‘Well, but it did up the trade for one while/ said Jack. 

‘How should that be?’ asked the surly villain. 

‘Why/ replied Jack, ‘the people got rusty about it, and 
would not deal, and they had bought so many brooms 
that ’ 

‘Well, for all that,’ said the other, ‘I think we should be 
down upon the fellow one of these darkmans and let him get 
it well.’ 

‘But old Meg’s asleep now,’ said another; ‘she grows a 
driveller, and is afraid of her shadow. She’ll sing out, some 
of these odd-come-shortlies, if you don’t look sharp.’ 

‘Never fear,’ said the old gipsy man; ‘Meg’s true-bred; 
she’s the last in the gang that will start; but she has some 
queer ways, and often cuts queer words.’ 

With more of this gibberish they continued the conversa- 
tion, rendering it thus, even to each other, a dark obscure 
dialect, eked out by significant nods and signs, but never ex- 
pressing distinctly, or in plain language, the subject on which 
it turned. At length one of them, observing Meg was still 
fast asleep, or appeared to be so, desired one of the lads ‘to 
hand in the black Peter, that they might flick it open.’ The 
boy stepped to the door and brought in a portmanteau, which 
Brown instantly recognised for his own. His thoughts im- 
mediately turned to the unfortunate lad he had left with the 
carriage. Had the ruffians murdered him? was the horrible 
doubt that crossed his mind. The agony of his attention 
grew yet keener, and while the villains pulled out and ad- 
mired the different articles of his clothes and linen, he eag- 
erly listened for some indication that might intimate the fate 
of the postilion. But the ruffians were too much delighted 
with their prize, and too much busied in examining its con- 
tents, to enter into any detail concerning the manner in which 
they had acquired it. The portmanteau contained various 
articles of apparel, a pair of pistols, a leathern case with a 
few papers, and some money, etc. etc. At any other time it 

182 


guy; mannering 


would have provoked Brown excessively to see the uncere- 
monious manner in which the thieves shared his property, 
and made themselves merry at the expense of the owner. 
But the moment was too perilous to admit any thoughts but 
what had immediate reference to self-preservation. 

After a sufficient scrutiny into the portmanteau, and an 
equitable division of its contents, the ruffians applied them- 
selves more closely to the serious occupation of drinking, in 
which they spent the greater part of the night. Brown was 
for some time in great hopes that they would drink so deep as 
to render themselves insensible, when his escape would have 
been an easy matter. But their dangerous trade required 
precautions inconsistent with such unlimited indulgence, and 
they stopped short on this side of absolute intoxication. 
Three of them at length composed themselves to rest, while 
the, fourth watched. He was relieved in this duty by one of 
the others after a vigil of two hours. When the second 
watch had elapsed, the sentinel awakened the whole, who, to 
Brown’s inexpressible relief, began to make some prepara- 
tions as if for departure, bundling up the various articles 
which each had appropriated. Still, however, there remained 
something to be done. Two of them, after some rummaging 
which not a little alarmed Brown, produced a mattock and 
shovel; another took a pickaxe from behind the straw on 
which the dead body was extended. With these implements 
two of them left the hut, and the remaining three, two of 
whom were the seamen, very strong men, still remained in 
garrison. 

After the space of about half an hour, one of those who 
had departed again returned, and whispered the others. They 
wrapped up the dead body in the sea-cloak which had served 
as a pall, and went out, bearing it along with them. The 
aged sibyl then arose from her real or feigned slumbers. 
She first went to the door, as if for the purpose of watching 
the departure of her late inmates, then returned, and com- 
manded Brown, in a low and stifled voice, to follow her in- 
stantly. He obeyed ; but, on leaving the hut, he would will- 
ingly have repossessed himself of his money, or papers at 
least, but this she prohibited in the most peremptory manner. 
It immediately occurred to him that the suspicion of having 

183 


GUY MANNERING 


removed anything of which he might possess himself would 
fall upon this woman, by whom in all probability his life had 
been saved. He therefore immediately desisted from his at- 
tempt, contenting himself with seizing a cutlass, which one 
of the ruffians had flung aside among the straw. On his feet, 
and possessed of this weapon, he already found himself half 
delivered from the dangers which beset him. Still, however, 
he felt stiffened and cramped, both with the cold and by the 
constrained and unaltered position which he had occupied all 
night. But, as he followed the gipsy from the door of the 
hut, the fresh air of the morning and the action of walking 
restored circulation and activity to his benumbed limbs. 

The pale light of a winter’s morning was rendered more 
clear by the snow, which was lying all around, crisped by the 
influence of a severe frost. Brown cast a hasty glance at the 
landscape around him, that he might be able again to know 
the spot. The little tower, of which only a single vault re- 
mained, forming the dismal apartment in which he had spent 
this remarkable night, was perched on the very point of a 
projecting rock overhanging the rivulet. It was accessible 
only on one side, and that from the ravine or glen below. On 
the other three sides the bank was precipitous, so that Brown 
had on the preceding evening escaped more dangers than 
one ; for, if he had attempted to go round the building, which 
was once his purpose, he must have been dashed to pieces. 
The dell was so narrow that the trees met in some places 
from the opposite sides. They were now loaded with snow 
instead of leaves, and thus formed a sort of frozen canopy 
over the rivulet beneath, which was marked by its darker 
colour, as it soaked its way obscurely through wreaths of 
snow. In one place, where the glen was a little wider, leav- 
ing a small piece of flat ground between the rivulet and the 
bank, were situated the ruins of the hamlet in which Brown 
had been involved on the preceding evening. The ruined 
gables, the insides of which were japanned with turf-smoke, 
looked yet blacker contrasted with the patches of snow which 
had been driven against them by the wind, and with the drifts 
which lay around them. 

Upon this wintry and dismal scene Brown could only at 
present cast a very hasty glance ; for his guide, after pausing 

184 


GUY MANNERING 


an instant as if to permit him to indulge his curiosity, strode 
hastily before him down the path which led into the glen. 
He observed, with some feelings of suspicion, that she chose 
a track already marked by several feet, which he could only 
suppose were those of the depredators who had spent the 
night in the vault. A moment’s recollection, however, put 
his suspicion to rest. It was not to be thought that the 
woman, who might have delivered him up to her gang when 
in a state totally defenceless, would have suspended her sup- 
posed treachery until he was armed and in the open air, and 
had so many better chances of defence or escape. He there- 
fore followed his guide in confidence and silence. They 
crossed the small brook at the same place where it previously 
had been passed by those who had gone before. The foot- 
marks then proceeded through the ruined village, and from 
thence down the glen, which again narrowed to a ravine, 
after the small opening in which they were situated. But the 
gipsy no longer followed the same track; she turned aside, 
and led the way by a very rugged and uneven path up the 
bank which overhung the village. Although the snow in 
many places hid the path-way, and rendered the footing un- 
certain and unsafe, Meg proceeded with a firm and deter- 
mined step, which indicated an intimate knowledge of the 
ground she traversed. At length they gained the top of the 
bank, though by a passage so steep and intricate that Brown, 
though convinced it was the same by which he had descended 
on the night before, was not a little surprised how he had 
accomplished the task without breaking his neck. Above, 
the country opened wide and uninclosed for about a mile or 
two on the one hand, and on the other were thick plantations 
of considerable extent. 

Meg, however, still led the way along the bank of the 
ravine out of which they had ascended, until she heard be- 
neath the murmur of voices. She then pointed to a deep 
plantation of trees at some distance. ‘The road to Kipple- 
tringan,’ she said, ‘is on the other side of these inclosures. 
Make the speed you can ; there’s mair rests on your life than 
other folks’. But you have lost all— stay.’ She fumbled in 
an immense pocket, from which she produced a greasy purse 
—‘Many’s the awmous your house has gi’en Meg and hers ; 

185 


GUY MANNERING 


and she has lived to pay it back in a small degree’ ; and she 
placed the purse in his hand. 

‘The woman is insane,’ thought Brown ; but it was no time 
to debate the point, for the sounds he heard in the ravine 
below probably proceeded from the banditti. ‘How shall I 
repay this money,’ he said, ‘or how acknowledge the kindness 
you have done me ?’ 

T hae twa boons to crave/ answered the sibyl, speaking 
low and hastily : ‘one, that you will never speak of what you 
have seen this night; the other, that you will not leave this 
country till you see me again, and that you leave word at the 
Gordon Arms where you are to be heard of, and when I next 
call for you, be it in church or market, at wedding or at 
burial, Sunday or Saturday, meal-time or fasting, that ye 
leave everything else and come with me.’ 

‘Why, that will do you little good, mother.’ 

‘But ’twill do yoursell muckle, and that’s what I’m thinking 
o’. I am not mad, although I have had eneugh to make me 
sae; I am not mad, nor doating, nor drunken. I know what 
I am asking, and I know it has been the will of God to pre- 
serve you in strange dangers, and that I shall be the instru- 
ment to set you in your father’s seat again. Sae give me 
your promise, and mind that you owe our life to me this 
blessed night.’ 

‘There’s wildness in her manner, certainly,’ thought Brown, 
‘and yet it is more like the wildness of energy than of mad- 
ness.’ — ‘Well, mother, since you do ask so useless and trifling 
a favour, you have my promise. It will at least give me an 
opportunity to repay your money with additions. You are 
an uncommon kind of creditor, no doubt, but ’ 

‘Away, away, then!’ said she, waving her hand. ‘Think 
not about the goud, it’s a’ your ain; but remember your 
promise, and do not dare to follow me or look after me.’ So 
saying, she plunged again into the dell, and descended it with 
great agility, the icicles and snow-wreaths showering down 
after her as she disappeared. 

Notwithstanding her prohibition, Brown endeavoured to 
gain some point of the bank from which he might, unseen, 
gaze down into the glen; and with some difficulty (for it 
must be conceived that the utmost caution was necessary) he 

i86 


GUY MANNERING 


succeeded. The spot which he attained for this purpose was 
the point of a projecting rock, which rose precipitously from 
among the trees. By kneeling down among the snow and 
stretching his head cautiously forward, he could observe what 
was going on in the bottom of the dell. He saw, as he ex- 
pected, his companions of the last night, now joined by two 
or three others. They had cleared away the snow from the 
foot of the rock and dug a deep pit, which was designed to 
serve the purpose of a grave. Around this they now stood, 
and lowered into it something wrapped in a naval cloak, 
which Brown instantly concluded to be the dead body of the 
man he had seen expire. They then stood silent for half a 
minute, as if under some touch of feeling for the loss of their 
companion. But if they experienced such, they did not long 
remain under its influence, for all hands went presently to 
work to fill up the grave; and Brown, perceiving that the 
task would be soon ended, thought it best to take the gipsy- 
woman’s hint and walk as fast as possible until he should gain 
the shelter of the plantation. 

Having arrived under cover of the trees, his first thought 
was of the gipsy’s purse. He had accepted it without hesi- 
tation, though with something like a feeling of degradation, 
arising from the character of the person by whom he was 
thus accommodated. But it relieved him from a serious 
though temporary embarrassment. His money, excepting a 
very few shillings, was in his portmanteau, and that was in 
possession of Meg’s friends. Some time was necessary to 
write to his agent, or even to apply to his good host at Char- 
lie’s Hope, who would gladly have supplied him. In the 
meantime he resolved to avail himself of Meg’s subsidy, con- 
fident he should have a speedy opportunity of replacing it 
with a handsome gratuity. Tt can be but a trifling sum,’ he 
said to himself, ^and I daresay the good lady may have a 
share of my bank-notes to make amends.’ 

With these reflections he opened the leathern purse, ex- 
pecting to find at most three or four guineas. But how much 
was he surprised to discover that it contained, besides a con- 
siderable quantity of gold pieces, of different coinages and 
various countries, the joint amount of which could not be 
short of a hundred pounds, several valuable rings and orna- 

187 


GUY MANNERING 


merits set with jewels, and, as appeared from the slight in- 
spection he had time to give them, of very considerable value. 

Brown was equally astonished and embarrassed by the cir- 
cumstances in which he found himself, possessed, as he now 
appeared to be, of property to a much greater amount than 
his own, but which had been obtained in all probability by the 
same nefarious means through which he had himself been 
plundered. His first thought was to inquire after the nearest 
justice of peace, and to place in his hands the treasure of 
which he had thus unexpectedly become the depositary, tell- 
ing at the same time his own remarkable story. But a mo- 
ment’s consideration brought several objections to this mode 
of procedure. In the first place, by observing this course he 
should break his promise of silence, and might probably by 
that means involve the safety, perhaps the life, of this woman, 
who had risked her own to preserve his, and who had volun- 
tarily endowed him with this treasure — a generosity which 
might thus become the means of her ruin. This was not to 
be thought of. Besides, he was a stranger, and for a time at 
least unprovided with means of establishing his own charac- 
ter and credit to the satisfaction of a stupid or obstinate 
country magistrate. T will think over the matter more ma- 
turely,’ he said; ‘perhaps there may be a regiment quartered 
at the county town, in which case my knowledge of the serv- 
ice and acquaintance with many officers of the army cannot 
fail to establish my situation and character by evidence which 
a civil judge could not sufficiently estimate. And then I shall 
have the commanding officer’s assistance in managing mat- 
ters so as to screen this unhappy madwoman, whose mistake 
or prejudice has been so fortunate for me. A civil magis- 
trate might think himself obliged to send out warrants for 
her at once, and the consequence, in case of her being taken, 
is pretty evident. No, she has been upon honour with me 
if she were the devil, and I will be equally upon honour with 
her. She shall have the privilege of a court-martial, where 
the point of honour can qualify strict law. Besides, I may 
see her at this place, Kipple — Couple — what did she call it? 
and then I can make restitution to her, and e’en let the law 
claim its own when it can secure her. In the meanwhile, 
however, I cut rather an awkward figure for one who has 

i88 


GUY MANNERING 


the honour to bear his Majesty’s commission, being little bet- 
ter than the receiver of stolen goods.’ 

With these reflections, Brown took from the gipsy’s treas- 
ure three or four guineas, for the purpose (5f his immediate 
expenses, and, tying up the rest in the purse which contained 
them, resolved not again to open it until he could either re- 
store it to her by whom it was given, or put it into the hands 
of some public functionary. He next thought of the cutlass, 
and his first impulse was to leave it in the plantation. But, 
when he considered the risk of meeting with these ruffians, 
he could not resolve on parting with his arms. His walking- 
dress, though plain, had so much of a military character as 
suited not amiss with his having such a weapon. Besides, 
though the custom of wearing swords by persons out of uni- 
form had been gradually becoming antiquated, it was not 
yet so totally forgotten as to occasion any particular remark 
towards those who chose to adhere to it. Retaining, there- 
fore, his weapon of defence, and placing the purse of the 
gipsy in a private pocket, our traveller strode gallantly on 
through the wood in search of the promised highroad. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

All school-day’s friendship, childhood innocence! 

We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 

Have with our needles created both one flower. 

Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 

Both warbling of one song, both in one key. 

As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds. 

Had been incorporate. 

A Midsummer Nighfs Dream. 

Julia Mannering to Matilda Marchmont. 

H OW can you upbraid me, my dearest Matilda, with 
abatement in friendship or fluctuation in affection? Is 
it possible for me to forget that you are the chosen of my 
heart, in whose faithful bosom I have deposited every feeling 
which your poor Julia dares to acknowledge to herself? And 
you do me equal injustice in upbraiding me with exchanging 

189 


GUY MANNERING 


your friendship for that of Lucy Bertram. I assure you she 
has not the materials I must seek for in a bosom confidante. 
She is a charming girl, to be sure, and I like her very much, 
and I confess our forenoon and evening engagements have 
left me less time for the exercise of my pen than our pro- 
posed regularity of correspondence demands. But she is 
totally devoid of elegant accomplishments, excepting the 
knowledge of French and Italian, which she acquired from 
the most grotesque monster you ever beheld, whom my 
father has engaged as a kind of librarian, and whom he 
patronises, I believe, to show his defiance of the world’s opin- 
ion. Colonel Mannering seems to have formed a determi- 
nation that nothing shall be considered as ridiculous so long 
as it appertains to or is connected with him. I remember 
in India he had picked up somewhere a little mongrel cur, 
with bandy legs, a long back, and huge flapping ears. Of 
this uncouth creature he chose to make a favourite, in de- 
spite of all taste and opinion; and I remember one instance 
which he alleged, of what he called Brown’s petulance, was, 
that he had criticised severely the crooked legs and droop- 
ing ears of Bingo. On my word, Matilda, I believe he nurses 
his high opinion of this most awkward of all pedants upon 
a similar principle. He seats the creature at table, where he 
pronounces a grace that sounds like the scream of the man 
in the square that used to cry mackerel, flings his meat down 
his throat by shovelfuls, like a dustman loading his cart, and 
apparently without the most distant perception of what he is 
swallowing, then bleats forth another unnatural set of tones 
by way of returning thanks, stalks out of the room, and im- 
merses himself among a parcel of huge worm-eaten folios 
that are as uncouth as himself! I could endure the creature 
well enough had I anybody to laugh at him along with me; 
but Lucy Bertram, if I but verge on the border of a jest 
affecting this same Mr. Sampson (such is the horrid man’s 
horrid name), looks so piteous that it deprives me of all spirit 
to proceed, and my father knits his brow, flashes fire from his 
eye, bites his lip, and says something that is extremely rude 
and uncomfortable to my feelings. 

‘It was not of this creature, however, that I meant to speak 
to you, only that, being a good scholar in the modem as 

190 


GUY MANNERING 


well as the ancient languages, he has contrived to make Lucy 
Bertram mistress of the former, and she has only, I believe, 
to thank her own good sense, or obstinacy, that the Greek, 
Latin (and Hebrew, for aught I know), were not added to 
her acquisitions. And thus she really has a great fund of 
information, and I assure you I am daily surprised at the 
power which she seems to possess of amusing herself by re- 
calling and arranging the subjects of her former reading. 
We read together every morning, and I begin to like Italian 
much better than when we were teased by that conceited ani- 
mal Cicipici. This is the way to spell his name, and not Chi- 
chipichi; you see I grow a connoisseur. 

‘But perhaps I like Miss Bertram more for the accomplish- 
ments she wants than for the knowledge she possesses. She 
knows nothing of music whatever, and no more of dancing 
than is here common to the meanest peasants, who, by the 
way, dance with great zeal and spirit. So that I am in- 
structor in my turn, and she takes with great gratitude les- 
sons from me upon the harpsichord; and I have even taught 
her some of La Pique’s steps, and you know he thought me 
a promising scholar. 

‘In the evening papa often reads, and I assure you he is 
the best reader of poetry you ever heard ; not like that actor 
who made a kind of jumble between reading and acting — 
staring, and bending his brow, and twisting his face, and 
gesticulating as if he were on the stage and dressed out in 
all his costume. My father’s manner is quite different ; it is 
the reading of a gentleman, who produces effect by feeling, 
taste, and inflection of voice, not by action or mummery. Lucy 
Bertram rides remarkably well, and I can now accompany 
her on horseback, having become emboldened by example. 
We walk also a good deal in spite of the cold. So, upon the 
whole, I have not quite so much time for writing as I used 
to have. 

‘Besides, my love, I must really use the apology of all 
stupid correspondents, that I have nothing to say. My hopes, 
my fears, my anxieties about Brown are of a less interesting 
cast since I know that he is at liberty and in health. Be- 
sides, I must own I think that by this time the gentleman 
might have given me some intimation what he was doing. 

191 


GUY MANNERING 


Our intercourse, may be an imprudent one, but it is not very 
complimentary to me that Mr. Vanbeest Brown should be 
the first to discover that such is the case, and to break off in 
consequence. I can promise him that we might not differ 
much in opinion should that happen to be his, for I have 
sometimes thought I have behaved extremely foolishly in that 
matter. Yet I have so good an opinion of poor Brown, that 
I cannot but think there is something extraordinary in hte 
silence. 

To return to Lucy Bertram. No, my dearest Matilda, she 
can never, never rival you in my regard, so that all your af- 
fectionate jealousy on that account is without foundation. 
She is, to be sure, a very pretty, a very sensible, a very af- 
fectionate girl, and I think there are few persons to whose 
consolatory friendship I could have recourse more freely in 
what are called the real evils of life. But then these so sel- 
dom come in one’s way, and one wants a friend who will 
sympathise with distresses of sentiment as well as with actual 
misfortune. Heaven knows, and you know, my dearest Ma- 
tilda, that these diseases of the heart require the balm of 
sympathy and affection as much as the evils of a more obvi- 
ous and determinate character. Now Lucy Bertram has 
nothing of this kindly sympathy, nothing at all, my dearest 
Matilda. Were I sick of a fever, she would sit up night 
after night to nurse me with the most unrepining patience; 
but with the fever of the heart, which my Matilda has soothed 
so often, she has no more sympathy than her old tutor. And 
yet what provokes me is, that the demure monkey actually has 
a lover of her own, and that their mutual affection (for 
mutual I take it to be) has a great deal of complicated and 
romantic interest. She was once, you must know, a great 
heiress, but was ruined by the prodigality of her father and 
the villainy of a horrid man in whom he confided. And one 
of the handsomest young gentlemen in the country is attached 
to her; but, as he is heir to a great estate, she discourages 
his addresses on account of the disproportion of their for- 
tune. 

'But with all this moderation, and self-denial, and modesty, 
and so forth, Lucy is a sly girl. I arr^ sure she loves young 
Hazlewood, and I am sure he has some guess of that, and 

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GUY MANNERING 


would probably bring her to acknowledge it too if my father 
or she would allow him an opportunity. But you must know 
the Colonel is always himself in the way to pay Miss Ber- 
tram those attentions which afford the best indirect oppor- 
tunities for a young gentleman in Hazlewood's situation. I 
would have my good papa take care that he does not himself 
pay the usual penalty of meddling folks. I assure you, if I 
were Hazlewood I should look on his compliments, his bow- 
ings, his cloakings, his shawlings, and his handings with 
some little suspicion; and truly I think Hazlewood does so 
too at some odd times. Then imagine what a silly figure 
your poor Julia makes on such occasions ! Here is my father 
making the agreeable to my friend; there is young Hazle- 
wood watching every word of her lips, and every motion of 
her eye ; and I have not the poor satisfaction of interesting a 
human being, not even the exotic monster of a parson, for 
even he sits with his mouth open, and his huge round 
goggling eyes fixed like those of a statue, admiring Mess 
Baartram ! 

‘All this makes me sometimes a little nervous, and some- 
times a little mischievous. I was so provoked at my father 
and the lovers the other day for turning me completely out 
of their thoughts and society, that I began an attack upon 
Hazlewood, from which it was impossible for him, in com- 
mon civility, to escape. He insensibly became warm in his 
defence, — I assure you, Matilda, he is a very clever as well 
as a very handsome young man, and I don’t think I ever re- 
member having seen him to the same advantage, — when, be- 
hold, in the midst of our lively conversation, a very soft sigh 
from Miss Lucy reached my not ungratified ears. I was 
greatly too generous to prosecute my victory any farther, 
even if I had not been afraid of papa. Luckily for me, he 
had at that moment got into a long description of the peculiar 
notions and manners of a certain tribe of Indians who live 
far up the country, and was illustrating them by making 
drawings on Miss Bertram’s work-patterns, three of which 
he utterly damaged by introducing among the intricacies of 
the pattern his specimens of Oriental costume. But I believe 
she thought as little of her own gown at the moment as of 
the India turbands and cummerbands. However, it was quite 

193 


GUY MANNERING 


as well for me that he did not see all the merit of my little 
manoeuvre, for he is as sharp-sighted as a hawk, and a sworn 
enemy to the slightest shade of coquetry. 

‘Well, Matilda, Hazlewood heard this same half-audible 
sigh, and instantly repented his temporary attentions to such 
an unworthy object as your Julia, and, with a very comical 
expression of consciousness, drew near to Lucy’s work-table. 
He made some trifling observation, and her reply was one in 
which nothing but an ear as acute as that of a lover, or a 
curious observer like myself, could have distinguished any- 
thing more cold and dry than usual. But it conveyed reproof 
to the self-accusing hero, and he stood abashed accordingly. 
You will admit that I was called upon in generosity to act 
as mediator. So I mingled in the conversation, in the quiet 
tone of an unobserving and uninterested third party, led them 
into their former habits of easy chat, and, after having served 
awhile as the channel of communication through which they 
chose to address each other, set them down to a pensive game 
at chess, and very dutifully went to tease papa, who was still 
busied with his drawings. The chess-players, you must ob- 
serve, were placed near the chimney, beside a little work- 
table, which held the board and men, the Colonel at some 
distance, with lights upon a library table; for it is a large 
old-fashioned room, with several recesses, and hung with 
grim tapestry, representing what it might have puzzled the 
artist himself to explain. 

‘ “Is chess a very interesting game, papa ?” 

‘ “I am told so,” without honouring me with much of his 
notice. 

“ ‘I should think so, from the attention Mr. Hazlewood 
and Lucy are bestowing on it.” 

‘He raised his head hastily and held his pencil suspended 
for an instant. Apparently he saw nothing that excited his 
suspicions, for he was resuming the folds of a Mahratta’s 
turban in tranquillity when I interrupted him with — “How 
old is Miss Bertram, sir ?” 

‘ “How should I know, Miss ? About your own age, I 
suppose.” 

‘ “Older, I should think, sir. You are always telling me 
how much more decorously she goes through all the honours 

194 


GUY MANNERING 


of the tea-table. Lord, papa, what if you should give her a 
right to preside once and for ever!” 

‘ “Julia, my dear,” returned papa, “you are either a fool 
outright or you are more disposed to make mischief than I 
have yet believed you.” 

‘ “Oh, my dear sir ! put your best construction upon it ; 
I would not be thought a fool for all the world.” 

' “Then why do you talk like one ?” said my father. 

^ “Lord, sir, I am sure there is nothing so foolish in what 
I said just now. Everybody knows you are a very handsome 
man” (a smile was just visible), “that is, for your time of 
life” (the dawn was overcast), “which is far from being ad- 
vanced, and I am sure I don’t know why you should not 
please yourself, if you have a mind. I am sensible I am but 
a thoughtless girl, and if a graver companion could render 
you more happy ” 

‘There was a mixture of displeasure and grave affection in 
the manner in which my father took my hand, that was a 
severe reproof to me for trifling with his feelings. “Julia,” 
he said, “I bear with much of your petulance because I think 
I have in some degree deserved it, by neglecting to superin- 
tend your education sufficiently closely. Yet I would not 
have you give it the rein upon a subject so delicate. If you 
do not respect the feelings of your surviving parent towards 
the memory of her whom you have lost, attend at least to the 
sacred claims of misfortune; and observe, that the slightest 
hint of such a jest reaching Miss Bertram’s ears would at 
once induce her to renounce her present asylum, and go 
forth, without a protector, into a world she has already felt 
so unfriendly.” 

‘What could I say to this, Matilda? I only cried heartily, 
begged pardon, and promised to be a good girl in future. 
And so here am I neutralised again, for I cannot, in honour 
or common good-nature, tease poor Lucy by interfering with 
Hazlewood, although she has so little confidence in me; and 
neither can I, after this grave appeal, venture again upon 
such delicate grounds with papa. So I burn little rolls of 
paper, and sketch Turks’ heads upon visiting cards with the 
blackened end — I assure you I succeeded in making a superb 
Hyder-Ally last night— and I jingle on my unfortunate 

195 


GUY MANNERING 


harpsichord, and begin at the end of a grave book and read 
it backward. After all, I begin to be very much vexed about 
Brown’s silence. Had he been obliged to leave the country, 
I am sure he would at least have written to me. Is it possible 
that my father can have intercepted his letters ? But no, that 
is contrary to all his principles ; I don’t think he would open 
a letter addressed to me to-night, to prevent my jumping out 
of window to-morrow. What an expression I have suffered 
to escape my pen! I should be ashamed of it, even to you, 
Matilda, and used in jest. But I need not take much merit 
for acting as I ought to do. This same Mr. Vanbeest Brown 
is by no means so very ardent a lover as to hurry the object 
of his attachment into such inconsiderate steps. He gives 
one full time to reflect, that must be admitted. However, I 
will not blame him unheard, nor permit myself to doubt the 
manly firmness of a character which I have so often extolled 
to you. Were he capable of doubt, of fear, of the shadow 
of change, I should have little to regret. 

‘And why, you will say, when I expect such steady and 
unalterable constancy from a lover, why should I be anxious 
about what Hazlewood does, or to whom he offers his atten- 
tions? I ask myself the question a hundred times a-day, and 
it only receives the very silly answer that one does not like 
to be neglected, though one would not encourage a serious 
infidelity. 

‘I write all these trifles because you say that they amuse 
you, and yet I wonder how they should. I remember, in 
our stolen voyage to the world of fiction, you always ad- 
mired the grand and the romantic, — tales of knights, dwarfs, 
giants, and distressed damsels, soothsayers, visions, beckon- 
ing ghosts, and bloody hands ; whereas I was partial to the 
involved intrigues of private life, or at farthest to so much 
only of the supernatural as is conferred by the agency of an 
Eastern genie or a beneficent fairy. You would have loved 
to shape your course of life over the broad ocean, with its 
dead calms and howling tempests, its tornadoes, and its bil- 
lows mountain-high; whereas I should like to trim my little 
pinnace to a brisk breeze in some inland lake or tranquil bay, 
where there was just difficulty of navigation sufficient to give 
interest and to require skill without any sensible degree of 

196 


GUY MANNERING 


danger. So that, upon the whole, Matilda, I think you should 
have had my father, with his pride of arms and of ancestry, 
his chivalrous point of honour, his high talents, and his ab- 
struse and mystic studies. You should have had Lucy Ber- 
tram too for your friend, whose father, with names which 
alike defy memory and orthography, ruled over this roman- 
tic country, and whose birth took place, as I have been indis- 
tinctly informed, under circumstances of deep and peculiar 
interest. You should have had, too, our Scottish residence, 
surrounded by mountains, and our lonely walks to haunted 
ruins. And I should have had, in exchange, the lawns and 
shrubs, and green-houses and conservatories, of Pine Park, 
with your good, quiet, indulgent aunt, her chapel in the 
morning, her nap after dinner, her hand at whist in the even- 
ing, not forgetting her fat coach-horses and fatter coach- 
man. Take notice, however, that Brown is not included in 
this proposed barter of mine; his good-humour, lively con- 
versation, and open gallantry suit my plan of life as well as 
his athletic form, handsome features, and high spirit would 
accord with a character of chivalry. So, as we cannot change 
altogether out and out, I think we must e’en abide as we are.’ 


CHAPTER XXX. 

I renounce your defiance; if you parley so roughly I’ll barricado my 
gates against you^ Do you see yon bay window ? Storm, I care not, 
serving the good Duke of Norfolk. 

Merry Devil of Edmonton. 
Julia Mannering to Matilda March mont. 

I RISE from a sick-bed, my dearest Matilda, to communi- 
cate the strange and frightful scenes which have just 
passed. Alas! how little we ought to jest with futurity! I 
closed my letter to you in high spirits, with some flippant 
remarks on your taste for the romantic and extraordinary in 
fictitious narrative. How little I expected to have had such 
events to record in the course of a few days ! And to witness 
scenes of terror, or to contemplate them in description, is as 
different, my dearest Matilda, as to bend over the brink of 

197 


GUY MANNERING 


a precipice holding by the frail tenure of a half-rooted 
shrub, or to admire the same precipice as represented in 
the landscape of Salvator. But I will not anticipate my nar- 
rative. 

‘The first part of my story is frightful enough, though it 
had nothing to interest my feelings. You must know that 
this country is particularly favourable to the commerce of a 
set of desperate men from the Isle of Man, which is nearly 
opposite. These smugglers are numerous, resolute, and for- 
midable, and have at different times become the dread of the 
neighbourhood when any one has interfered with their contra- 
band trade. The local magistrates, from timidity or worse 
motives, have become shy of acting against them, and im- 
punity has rendered them equally daring and desperate. 
With all this my father, a stranger in the land, and invested 
with no official authority, had, one would think, nothing to 
do. But it must be owned that, as he himself expresses it, 
he was born when Mars was lord of his ascendant, and that 
strife and bloodshed find him out in circumstances and situa- 
tions the most retired and pacific. 

‘About eleven o’clock on last Tuesday morning, while 
Hazlewood and my father were proposing to walk to a little 
lake about three miles’ distance, for the purpose of shooting 
wild ducks, and while Lucy and I were busied with arrang- 
ing our plan of work and study for the day, we were alarmed 
by the sound of horses’ feet advancing very fast up the 
avenue. The ground was hardened by a severe frost, which 
made the clatter of the hoofs sound yet louder and sharper. 
In a moment two or three men, armed, mounted, and each 
leading a spare horse loaded with packages, appeared on the 
lawn, and, without keeping upon the road, which makes a 
small sweep, pushed right across for the door of the house. 
Their appearance was in the utmost degree hurried and dis- 
ordered, and they frequently looked back like men who 
apprehended, a close and deadly pursuit. My father and 
Hazlewood hurried to the front door to demand who they 
were, and what was their business. They were revenue offi- 
cers, they stated, who had seized these horses, loaded with 
contraband articles, at a place about three miles off. But the 
smugglers had been reinforced, and were now pursuing them 

198 


GUY MANNERING 


with the avowed purpose of recovering the goods, and put- 
ting to death the officers who had presumed to do their duty. 
The men said that, their horses being loaded, and the pur- 
suers gaining ground upon them, they had fled to Wood- 
bourne, conceiving that, as my father had served the King, 
he would not refuse to protect the servants of government 
when threatened to be murdered in the discharge of their 
duty. 

'My father, to whom, in his enthusiastic feelings of mili- 
tary loyalty, even a dog would be of importance if he came 
in the King's name, gave prompt orders for securing the 
goods in the hall, arming the servants, and defending the 
house in case it should be necessary. Hazlewood seconded 
him with great spirit, and even the strange animal they call 
Sampson stalked out of his den, and seized upon a fowling- 
piece which my father had laid aside to take what they call 
a rifle-gun, with which they shoot tigers, etc., in the East. 
The piece went off in the awkward hands of the poor par- 
son, and very nearly shot one of the excisemen. At this un- 
expected and involuntary explosion of his weapon, the Domi- 
nie (such is his nickname) exclaimed, “Prodigious!" which 
is his usual ejaculation when astonished. But no power could 
force the man to part with his discharged piece, so they were 
content to let him retain it, with the precaution of trusting him 
with no ammunition. This (excepting the alarm occasioned 
by the report) escaped my notice at the time, you may easily 
believe ; but, in talking over the scene afterwards, Hazlewood 
made us very merry with the Dominie’s ignorant but zealous 
valour. 

'When my father had got everything into proper order for 
defence, and his people stationed at the windows with their 
fire-arms, he wanted to order us out of danger — into the 
cellar, I believe — but we could not be prevailed upon to stir. 
Though terrified to death, I have so much of his own spirit 
that I would look upon the peril which threatens us rather 
than hear it rage around me without knowing its nature or 
its progress. Lucy, looking as pale as a marble statue, and 
keeping her eyes fixed on Hazlewood, seemed not even to 
hear the prayers with which he conjured her to leave the 
front of the house. But in truth unless the hall-door should 

199 


GUY MANNERING 


be forced, we were in little danger; the windows being al- 
most blocked up with cushions and pillows, and, what the 
Dominie most lamented, with folio volumes, brought hastily 
from the library, leaving only spaces through which the de- 
fenders might fire upon the assailants. 

‘My father had now made his dispositions, and we sat in 
breathless expectation in the darkened apartment, the men 
remaining all silent upon their posts, in anxious contemplation 
probably of the approaching danger. My father, who was 
quite at home in such a scene, walked from one to another 
and reiterated his order that no one should presume to fire 
until he gave the word. Hazlewood, who seemed to catch 
courage from his eye, acted as his aid-de-camp, and displayed 
the utmost alertness in bearing his directions from one place 
to another, and seeing them properly carried into execution. 
Our force, with the strangers included, might amount to 
about twelve men. 

‘At length the silence of this awful period of expectation 
was broken by a sound which at a distance was like the 
rushing of a stream of water, but as it approached we dis- 
tinguished the thick-beating clang of a number of horses ad- 
vancing very fast. I had arranged a loop-hole for myself, 
from which I could see the approach of the enemy. The 
noise increased and came nearer, and at length thirty horse- 
men and more rushed at once upon the lawn. You never 
saw such horrid wretches ! Notwithstanding the severity of 
the season, they were most of them stripped to their shirts 
and trousers, with silk handkerchiefs knotted about their 
heads, and all well armed with carbines, pistols, and cutlasses. 
I, who am a soldier’s daughter, and accustomed to see war 
from my infancy, was never so terrified in my life as by the 
savage appearance of these ruffians, their horses reeking 
with the speed at which they had ridden, and their furious 
exclamations of rage and disappointment when they saw 
themselves baulked of their prey. They paused, however, 
when they saw the preparations made to receive them, and 
appeared to hold a moment’s consultation among themselves. 
At length one of the party, his face blackened with gun- 
powder by way of disguise, came forward with a white hand- 
kerchief on the end of his carbine, and asked to speak with 

200 


GUY MANNERING 


Colonel Mannering. My father, to my infinite terror, threw 
open a window near which he was posted, and demanded 
what he wanted. “We want our goods, which we have been 
robbed of by these sharks,” said the fellow ; “and our lieuten- 
ant bids me say that, if they are delivered, we’ll go off for 
this bout without clearing scores with the rascals who took 
them ; but if not, we’ll burn the house, and have the heart’s 
blood of every one in it,” — a threat which he repeated more 
than once, graced by a fresh variety of imprecations, and the 
most horrid denunciations that cruelty could suggest. 

‘ “And which is your lieutenant ?” said my father in 
reply. 

' “That gentleman on the grey horse,” said the miscreant, 
“with the red handkerchief bound about his brow.” 

‘ “Then be pleased to tell that gentleman that, if he and 
the scoundrels who are with him do not ride off the lawn 
this instant, I will fire upon them without ceremony.” So 
saying, my father shut the window and broke short the con- 
ference. 

‘The fellow no sooner regained his troop than, with a loud 
hurra, or rather a savage yell, they fired a volley against our 
garrison. The glass of the windows was shattered in every 
direction, but the precautions already noticed saved the party 
within from suffering. Three such volleys were fired without 
a shot being returned from within. My father then observed 
them getting hatchets and crows, probably to assail the hall- 
door, and called aloud, “Let none fire but Hazlewood and 
me; Hazlewood, mark the ambassador.” He himself aimed 
at the man on the grey horse, who fell on receiving his shot. 
Hazlewood was equally successful. He shot the spokesman, 
who had dismounted and was advancing with an axe in his 
hand. Their fall discouraged the rest, who began to turn 
round their horses; and a few shots fired at them soon sent 
them off, bearing along with them their slain or wounded 
companions. We could not observe that they suffered any 
farther loss. Shortly after their retreat a party of soldiers 
made their appearance, to my infinite relief. These men 
were quartered at a village some miles distant, and had 
marched on the first rumour of the skirmish. A part of them 
escorted the terrified revenue officers and their seizure to a 

201 


GUY MANNERING 


neighbouring seaport as a place of safety, and at my earnest 
request two or three files remained with us for that and the 
following day, for the security of the house from the venge- 
ance of these banditti. 

‘Such, dearest Matilda, was my first alarm. I must not 
forget to add that the ruffians left, at a cottage on the road- 
side, the man whose face was blackened with powder, ap- 
parently because he was unable to bear transportation. He 
died in about half an hour after. On examining the corpse, 
it proved to be that of a profligate boor in the neighbour- 
hood, a person notorious as a poacher and smuggler. We 
received many messages of congratulation from the neigh- 
bouring families, and it was generally allowed that a few 
such instances of spirited resistance would greatly check the 
presumption of these lawless men. My father distributed 
rewards among his servants, and praised Hazlewood’s cour- 
age and coolness to the skies. Lucy and I came in for a share 
of his applause, because we had stood fire with firmness, and 
had not disturbed him with screams or expostulations. As 
for the Dominie, my father took an opportunity of begging 
to exchange snuff-boxes with him. The honest gentleman 
was much flattered with the proposal, and extolled the beauty 
of his new snuff-box excessively. “It looked,” he said, “as 
well as if it were real gold from Ophir.” Indeed, it would 
be odd if it should not, being formed in fact of that very 
metal; but, to do this honest creature justice, I believe the 
knowledge of its real value would not enhance his sense of 
my father’s kindness, supposing it, as he does, to be pinch- 
beck gilded. He has had a hard task replacing the folios 
which were used in the barricade, smoothing out the creases 
and dog’s-ears, and repairing the other disasters they have 
sustained during their service in the fortification. He 
brought us some pieces of lead and bullets which these pon- 
derous tomes had intercepted during the action, and which 
he had extracted with great care; and, were I in spirits, I 
could give you a comic account of his astonishment at the 
apathy with which we heard of the wounds and mutilation 
suffered by Thomas Aquinas or the venerable Chrysostom. 
But I am not in spirits, and I have yet another and more in- 
teresting incident to communicate. I feel, however, so much 

202 


GUY MANNERING 


fatigued with my present exertion that I cannot resume the 
pen till to-morrow. I will detain this letter notwithstanding, 
that you may not feel any anxiety upon account of your own 

‘Julia Mannering." 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Here’s a good world ! 

Knew you of this fair work? 

King John. 

Julia Mannering to Matilda March mont. 

I MUST take up the thread of my story, my dearest Ma- 
tilda, where I broke off yesterday. 

‘For two or three days we talked of nothing but our siege 
and its probable consequences, and dinned into my father’s 
unwilling ears a proposal to go to Edinburgh, or at least to 
Dumfries, where there is remarkably good society, until the 
resentment of these outlaws should blow over. He answered 
with great composure that he had no mind to have his land- 
lord’s house and his own property at Woodbourne destroyed ; 
that, with our good leave, he had usually been esteemed 
competent to taking measures for the safety or protection of 
his family; that, if he remained quiet at home, he conceived 
the welcome the villains had received was not of a nature to 
invite a second visit, but should he show any signs of alarm, 
it would be the sure way to incur the very risk which we were 
afraid of. Heartened by his arguments, and by the extreme 
indifference with which he treated the supposed danger, we 
began to grow a little bolder, and to walk about as usual. 
Only the gentlemen were sometimes invited to take their 
guns when they attended us, and I observed that my father 
for several nights paid particular attention to having the 
house properly secured, and required his domestics to keep 
their arms in readiness in case of necessity. 

‘But three days ago chanced an occurrence of a nature 
which alarmed me more by far than the attack of the 
smugglers. 


203 


GUY MANNERING 


told you there was a small lake at some distance from 
Woodbourne, where the gentlemen sometimes go to shoot 
wild-fowl. I happened at breakfast to say I should like to 
see this place in its present frozen state, occupied by skaters 
and curlers, as they call those who play a particular sort of 
game upon the ice. There is snow on the ground, but frozen 
so hard that I thought Lucy and I might venture to that dis- 
tance, as the footpath leading there was well beaten by the 
repair of those who frequented it for pastime. Hazlewood 
instantly offered to attend us, and we stipulated that he 
should take his fowling-piece. He laughed a good deal at 
the idea of going a-shooting in the snow; but, to relieve our 
tremors, desired that a groom, who acts as gamekeeper oc- 
casionally, should follow us with his gun. As for Colonel 
Mannering, he does not like crowds or sights of any kind 
where human figures make up the show, unless indeed it 
were a military review, so he declined the party. 

‘We set out unusually early, on a fine, frosty, exhilarating 
morning, and we felt our minds, as well as our nerves, braced 
by the elasticity of the pure air. Our walk to the lake was 
delightful, or at least the difficulties were only such as di- 
verted us, — a slippery descent, for instance, or a frozen ditch 
to cross, which made Hazlewood’s assistance absolutely ne- 
cessary. I don’t think Lucy liked her walk the less for these 
occasional embarrassments. 

‘The scene upon the lake was beautiful. One side of it 
is bordered by a steep crag, from which hung a thousand 
enormous icicles all glittering in the sun; on the other side 
was a little wood, now exhibiting that fantastic appearance 
which the pine trees present when their branches are loaded 
with snow. On the frozen bosom of the lake itself were a 
multitude of moving figures, some flitting along with the 
velocity of swallows, some sweeping in the most graceful 
circles, and others deeply interested in a less active pastime, 
crowding round the spot where the inhabitants of two rival 
parishes contended for the prize at curling, — an honour of 
no small importance, if we were to judge from the anxiety 
expressed both by the players and bystanders. We walked 
round the little lake, supported by Hazlewood, who lent us 
each an arm. He spoke, poor fellow, with great kindness to 

204 


GUY MANNERING 


old and young, and seemed deservedly popular among the as- 
sembled crowd. At length we thought of retiring. 

‘Why do I mention these trivial occurrences? Not, Heaven 
knows, from the interest I can now attach to them; but be- 
cause, like a drowning man who catches at a brittle twig, I 
seize every apology for delaying the subsequent and dread- 
ful part of my narrative. But it must be communicated: I 
must have the sympathy of at least one friend under this 
heart-rending calamity. 

‘We were returning home by a footpath which led through 
a plantation of firs. Lucy had quitted Hazlewood’s arm; 
it is only the plea of absolute necessity which reconciles her 
to accept his assistance. I still leaned upon his other arm. 
Lucy followed us close, and the servant was two or three 
paces behind us. Such was our position, when at once, and 
as if he had started out of the earth. Brown stood before us 
at a short turn of the road! He was very plainly, I might 
say coarsely, dressed, and his whole appearance had in it 
something wild and agitated. I screamed between surprise 
and terror. Hazlewood mistook the nature of my alarm, 
and, when Brown advanced towards me as if to speak, com- 
manded him haughtily to stand back, and not to alarm the 
lady. Brown replied, with equal asperity, he had no occasion 
to take lessons from him how to behave to that or any other 
lady. I rather believe that Hazlewood, impressed with the 
idea that he belonged to the band of smugglers, and had 
some bad purpose in view, heard and understood him imper- 
fectly. He snatched the gun from the servant, who had 
come up on a line with us, and, pointing the muzzle at Brown, 
commanded him to stand off at his peril. My screams, for 
my terror prevented my finding articulate language, only 
hastened the catastrophe. Brown, thus menaced, sprung 
upon Hazlewood, grappled with him, and had nearly suc- 
ceeded in wrenching the fowling-piece from his grasp, when 
the gun went off in the struggle, and the contents were lodged 
in Hazlewood's shoulder, who instantly fell. I saw no more, 
for the whole scene reeled before my eyes, and I fainted 
away ; but, by Lucy’s report, the unhappy perpetrator of this 
action gazed a moment on the scene before him, until her 
screams began to alarm the people upon the lake, several of 

205 


GUY MANNERING 


whom now came in sight. He then bounded over a hedge 
which divided the footpath from the plantation, and has not 
since been heard of. The servant made no attempt to stop 
or secure him, and the report he made of the matter to those 
who came up to us induced them rather to exercise their hu- 
manity in recalling me to life, than show their courage by 
pursuing a desperado, described by the groom as a man of 
tremendous personal strength, and completely armed. 

‘Hazlewood was conveyed home, that is, to Woodbourne, in 
safety; I trust his wound will prove in no respect danger- 
ous, though he suffers much. But to Brown the conse- 
quences must be most disastrous. He is already the object 
of my father’s resentment, and he has now incurred danger 
from the law of the country, as well as from the clamorous 
vengeance . of the father of Hazlewood, who threatens to 
move heaven and earth against the author of his son’s wound. 
How will he be able to shroud himself from the vindictive 
activity of the pursuit? how to defend himself, if taken, 
against the severity of laws which, I am told, may even affect 
his life? and how can I find means to warn him of his dan- 
ger ? Then poor Lucy’s ill-concealed grief, occasioned by her 
lover’s wound, is another source of distress to me, and every- 
thing round me appears to bear witness against that indis- 
cretion which has occasioned this calamity. 

‘For two days I was very ill indeed. The news that Hazle- 
wood was recovering, and that the person who had shot him 
was nowhere to be traced, only that for certain he was one of 
the leaders of the gang of smugglers, gave me some com- 
fort. The suspicion and pursuit being directed towards those 
people must naturally facilitate Brown’s escape, and I trust 
has ere this ensured it. But patrols of horse and foot trav- 
erse the country in all directions, and I am tortured by a 
thousand confused and unauthenticated rumours of arrests 
and discoveries. 

‘Meanwhile my greatest source of comfort is the generous 
candour of Hazlewood, who persists in declaring that, with 
whatever intentions the person by whom he was wounded 
approached our party, he is convinced the gun went off in 
the struggle by accident, and that the injury he received was 
undesigned. The groom, on the other hand, maintains that 

206 


GUY MANNERING 


the piece was wrenched out of Hazlewood’s hands and de- 
liberately pointed at his body, and Lucy inclines to the same 
opinion; I do not suspect them of wilful exaggeration, 
yet such is the fallacy of human testimony, for the unhappy 
shot was most unquestionably discharged unintentionally. 
Perhaps it would be the best way to confide the whole 
secret to Hazlewood; but he is very young, and I feel the 
utmost repugnance to communicate to him my folly. I once 
thought of disclosing the mystery to Lucy, and began by 
asking what she recollected of the person and features of 
the man whom we had so unfortunately met ; but she ran out 
into such a horrid description of a hedge-ruffian, that I was 
deprived of all courage and disposition to own my attach- 
ment to one of such appearance as she attributed to him. I 
must say Miss Bertram is strangely biassed by her prepos- 
sessions, for there are few handsomer men than poor Brown. 
I had not seen him for a long time, and even in his strange 
and sudden apparition on this unhappy occasion, and under 
every disadvantage, his form seems to me, on reflection, im- 
proved in grace and his features in expressive dignity. Shall 
we ever meet again? Who can answer that question? Write 
to me kindly, my dearest Matilda; but when did you other- 
wise? Yet, again, write to me soon, and write to me kindly. 
I am not in a situation to profit by advice or reproof, nor have 
I my usual spirits to parry them by raillery. I feel the ter- 
rors of a child who has in heedless sport put in motion some 
powerful piece of machinery; and, while he beholds wheels 
revolving, chains clashing, cylinders rolling around him, is 
equally astonished at the tremendous powers which his weak 
agency has called into action, and terrified for the conse- 
quences which he is compelled to await, without the possi- 
bility of averting them. 

‘I must not omit to say that my father is very kind and 
affectionate. The alarm which I have received forms a suf- 
ficient apology for my nervous complaints. My hopes are, 
that Brown has made his escape into the sister kingdom of 
England, or perhaps to Ireland or the Isle of Man. In either 
case he may wait the issue of Hazlewood^s wound with safety 
and with patience, for the communication of these countries 
with Scotland, for the purpose of justice, is not (thank 

207 


GUY MANNERING 


Heaven) of an intimate nature. The consequences of his 
being apprehended would be terrible at this moment. I en- 
deavour to strengthen my mind by arguing against the pos- 
sibility of such a calamity. Alas! how soon have sorrows 
and fears, real as well as severe, followed the uniform and 
tranquil state of existence at which so lately I was disposed 
to repine! But I will not oppress you any longer with my 
complaints. Adieu, my dearest Matilda! 

‘Julia Mannering." 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine 
ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark in 
thine ear: Change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, 
which is the thief? 

King Lear. 

A mong those who took the most lively interest in en- 
deavouring to discover the person by whom young 
Charles Hazlewood had been waylaid and wounded was Gil- 
bert Glossin, Esquire, late writer in , now Laird of Ellan- 

gowan, and one of the worshipful commission of justices of 

the peace for the county of . His motives for exertion 

on this occasion were manifold; but we presume that our 
readers, from what they already know of this gentleman, 
will acquit him of being actuated by any zealous or intemper- 
ate love of abstract justice. 

The truth was, that this respectable personage felt himself 
less at ease than he had expected, after his machinations put 
him in possession of his benefactor’s estate. His reflections 
within doors, where so much occurred to remind him of for- 
mer times, were not always the self-congratulations of suc- 
cessful stratagem. And when he looked abroad he could not 
but be sensible that he was excluded from the society of the 
gentry of the county, to whose rank he conceived he had 
raised himself. He was not admitted to their clubs, and at 
meetings of a public nature, from which he could not be alto- 
gether excluded, he found himself thwarted and looked upon 
with coldness and contempt. Both principle and prejudice 

208 


GUY MANNERING 


co-operated in creating this dislike ; for the gentlemen of the 
county despised him for the lowness of his birth, while they 
hated him for the means by which he had raised his fortune. 
With the common people his reputation stood still worse. They 
would neither yield him the territorial appellation of Ellan- 
gowan nor the usual compliment of Mr. Glossin : with them 
he was bare Glossin; and so incredibly was his vanity inter- 
ested by this trifling circumstance, that he was known to give 
half-a-crown to a beggar because he had thrice called him 
Ellangowan in beseeching him for a penny. He therefore 
felt acutely the general want of respect, and particularly 
when he contrasted his own character and reception in society 
with those of Mr. Mac-Morlan, who, in far inferior worldly 
circumstances, was beloved and respected both by rich and 
poor, and was slowly but securely laying the foundation of a 
moderate fortune, with the general good-will and esteem of 
all who knew him. 

Glossin, while he repined internally at what he would fain 
have called the prejudices and prepossessions of the country, 
was too wise to make any open complaint. He was sensible 
his elevation was too recent to be immediately forgotten, and 
the means by which he had attained it too odious to be soon 
forgiven. But time, thought he, diminishes wonder and pal- 
liates misconduct. With the dexterity, therefore, of one who 
made his fortune by studying the weak points of human 
nature, he determined to lie by for opportunities to make 
himself useful even to those who most disliked him ; trusting 
that his own abilities, the disposition of country gentlemen to 
get into quarrels, when a lawyer’s advice becomes precious, 
and a thousand other contingencies, of which, with patience 
and address, he doubted not to be able to avail himself, would 
soon place him in a more important and respectable light to 
his neighbours, and perhaps raise him to the eminence some- 
times attained by a shrewd, worldly, bustling man of busi- 
ness, when, settled among a generation of country gentlemen, 
he becomes, in Burns’s language. 

The tongue of the trump to them a^ 

The attack on Colonel Mannering’s house, followed by the 
accident of Hazlewood’s wound, appeared to Glossin a proper 

209 


GUY MANNERING 


opportunity to impress upon the country at large the service 
which could be rendered by an active magistrate (for he had 
been in the commission for some time), well acquainted with 
the law, and no less so with the haunts and habits of the illicit 
traders. He had acquired the latter kind of experience by a 
former close alliance with some of the most desperate smug- 
glers, in consequence of which he had occasionally acted, 
sometimes as partner, sometimes as legal adviser, with these 
persons. But the connexion had been dropped many years; 
nor, considering how short the race of eminent characters of 
this description, and the frequent circumstances which occur 
to make them retire from particular scenes of action, had he 
the least reason to think that his present researches could 
possibly compromise any old friend who might possess means 
of retaliation. The having been concerned in these practices 
abstractedly was a circumstance which, according to his opin- 
ion, ought in no respect to interfere with his now using his 
experience in behalf of the public, or rather to further his 
own private views. To acquire the good opinion and counte- 
nance of Colonel Mannering would be no small object to a 
gentleman who was much disposed to escape from Coventry; 
and to gain the favour of old Hazlewood, who was a leading 
man in the county, was of more importance still. Lastly, if 
he should succeed in discovering, apprehending, and convict- 
ing the culprits, he would have the satisfaction of mortifying, 
and in some degree disparaging, Mac-Morlan, to whom, as 
sheriff-substitute of the county, this sort of investigation 
properly belonged, and who would certainly suffer in public 
opinion should the voluntary exertions of Glossin be more 
successful than his own. 

Actuated by motives so stimulating, and well acquainted 
with the lower retainers of the law, Glossin set every spring 
in motion to detect and apprehend, if possible, some of the 
gang who had attacked Woodbourne, and more particularly 
the individual who had wounded Charles Hazlewood. He 
promised high rewards, he suggested various schemes, and 
used his personal interest among his old acquaintances who 
favoured the trade, urging that they had better make sacrifice 
of an under-strapper or two than incur the odium of having 
favoured such atrocious proceedings. But for some time all 

210 


GUY MANNERING 


these exertions were in vain. The common people of the 
country either favoured or feared the smugglers too much to 
afford any evidence against them. At length this busy mag- 
istrate obtained information that a man, having the dress and 
appearance of the person who had wounded Hazlewood, had 
lodged on the evening before the rencontre at the Gordon 
Arms in Kippletringan. Thither Mr. Glossin immediately 
went, for the purpose of interrogating our old acquaintance 
Mrs. Mac-Candlish. 

The reader may remember that Mr. Glossin did not, ac- 
cording to this good woman’s phrase, stand high in her 
books. She therefore attended his summons to the parlour 
slowly -and reluctantly, and, on entering the room, paid her 
respects in the coldest possible manner. The dialogue then 
proceeded as follows : 

‘A fine frosty morning, Mrs. Mac-Candlish.’ 

‘Ay, sir; the morning’s weel eneugh,’ answered the land- 
lady, drily. 

‘Mrs. Mac-Candlish, I wish to know if the justices are to 
dine here as usual after the business of the court on Tues- 
day ?’ 

‘I believe — I fancy, sae, sir — as usual’ — (about to leave the 
room). 

‘Stay a moment, Mrs. Mac-Candlish; why, you are in a 
prodigious hurry, my. good friend? I have been thinking a 
club dining here once a month would be a very pleasant 
thing.’ 

‘Certainly, sir; a club of respectable gentlemen.’ 

‘True, true,’ said Glossin, ‘I mean landed proprietors and 
gentlemen of weight in the county ; and I should like to set 
such a thing agoing.’ 

The short dry cough with which Mrs. Mac-Candlish re- 
ceived this proposal by no means indicated any dislike to the 
overture abstractedly considered, but inferred much doubt 
how far it would succeed under the auspices of the gentleman 
by whom it was proposed. It was not a cough negative, but 
a cough dubious, and as such Glossin felt it ; but it was not 
his cue to take offence. 

‘Have there been brisk doings on the road, Mrs. Mac- 
Candlish? Plenty of company, I suppose?’ 

211 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Pretty well, sir, — but I believe I am wanted at the bar/ 

‘No, no; stop one moment, cannot you, to oblige an old 
customer? Pray, do you remember a remarkably tall young 
man who lodged one night in your house last week ?’ 

‘Troth, sir, I canna weel say; I never take heed whether 
my company be lang or short, if they make a lang bill/ 

‘And if they do not, you can do that for them, eh, Mrs. 
Mac-Candlish ? ha, ha, ha! But this young man that I in- 
quire after was upwards of six feet high, had a dark frock, 
with metal buttons, light-brown hair unpowdered, blue eyes, 
and a straight nose, travelled on foot, had no servant or bag- 
gage ; you surely can remember having seen such a traveller ?' 

‘Indeed, sir,’ answered Mrs. Mac-Candlish, bent on baffling 
his inquiries, ‘I canna charge my memory about the matter; 
there’s mair to do in a house like this, I trow, than to look 
after passengers’ hair, or their een, or noses either.’ 

‘Then, Mrs. Mac-Candlish, I must tell you in plain terms 
that this person is suspected of having been guilty of a crime ; 
and it is in consequence of these suspicions that I, as a magis- 
trate, require this information from you; and if you refuse 
to answer my questions, I must put you upon your oath.’ 

‘Troth, sir, I am no free to swear we ay gaed to the Anti- 
burgher meeting. It’s very true, in Bailie Mac-Candlish’s 
time (honest man) we keepit the kirk, whilk was most seemly 
in his station, as having office ; but after his being called to a 
better place than Kippletringan I hae gaen back to worthy 
Maister Mac-Grainer. And so ye see, sir, I am no clear to 
swear without speaking to the minister, especially against ony 
sackless puir young thing that’s gaun through the country, 
stranger and freendless like.’ 

‘I shall relieve your scruples, perhaps, without troubling 
Mr. Mac-Grainer, when I tell you that this fellow whom I 
inquire after is the man who shot your young friend Charles 
Hazlewood.’ 

‘Gudeness ! wha could hae thought the like o’ that o’ him ? 
Na, if it had been for debt, or e’en for a bit tuilzie wi’ the 
gauger, the deil o’ Nelly Mac-Candlish’s tongue should ever 
hae wranged him. But if he really shot young Hazlewood — 

^ Some of the strict dissenters decline taking an oath before a civil 
magistrate. 


212 


GUY MANNERING 


but I canna think it, Mr. Glqssin; this will be some o’ your 
skits now. I canna think it o’ sae douce a lad; na, na, this is 
just some o’ your auld skits. Ye’ll be for having a horning 
or a caption after him.’ 

‘I see you have no confidence in me, Mrs. Mac-Candlish ; 
but look at these declarations, signed by the persons who saw 
the crime committed, and judge yourself if the description of 
the ruffian be not that of your guest.’ 

He put the papers into her hand, which she perused very 
carefully, often taking off her spectacles to cast her eyes up 
to heaven, or perhaps to wipe a tear from them, for young 
Hazlewood was an especial favourite with the good dame. 
‘Aweel, aweel,’ she said, when she had concluded her exam- 
ination, 'since it’s e’en sae, I gie him up, the villain. But O, 
we are erring mortals ! I never saw a face I liked better, or 
a lad that was mair douce and canny : I thought he had been 
some gentleman under trouble. But I gie him up, the vil- 
lain! To shoot Charles Hazlewood, and before the young 
ladies, poor innocent things ! I gie him up.’ 

'So you admit, then, that such a person lodged here the 
night before this vile business?’ 

'Troth did he, sir, and a’ the house were taen wi’ him, he 
was sic a frank, pleasant young man. It wasna for his 
spending. I’m sure, for he just had a mutton-chop and a mug 
of ale, and maybe a glass or twa o’ wine ; and I asked him to 
drink tea wi’ mysell, and didna put that into the bill; and he 
took nae supper, for he said he was defeat wi’ travel a’ the 
night afore. I daresay now it had been on some hellicat er- 
rand or other.’ 

'Did you by any chance learn his name?’ 

'I wot weel did I,’ said the landlady, now as eager to com- 
municate her evidence as formerly desirous to suppress it. 
'He tell’d me his name was Brown, and he said it was likely 
that an auld woman like a gipsy wife might be asking for 
him. Ay, ay ! tell me your company, and I’ll tell you wha ye 
are ! O the villain ! Aweel, sir, when he gaed away in the 
morning he paid his bill very honestly, and gae something to 
the chambermaid nae doubt; for Grizzy has naething frae 
me, by twa pair o’ new shoon ilka year, and maybe a bit com- 
pliment at Hansel Monanday ’ Here Glossin found it 

213 


GUY MANNERING 


necessary to interfere, and bring the good woman back to the 
point. 

‘Ou than, he just said, “If there comes such a person to in- 
quire after Mr. Brown, you will say I am gone to look at the 
skaters on Loch Creeran, as you call it, and I will be back 
here to dinner.” But he never came back, though I expected 
him sae faithfully that I gae a look to making the friar’s 
chicken mysell, and to the crappit-heads too, and that’s what 
I dinna do for ordinary, Mr. Glossin. But little did I think 
what skating wark he was gaun about — to shoot Mr. Charles, 
the innocent lamb !’ 

Mr. Glossin having, like a prudent examinator, suffered 
his witness to give vent to all her surprise and indignation, 
now began to inquire whether the suspected person had left 
any property or papers about the inn. 

‘Troth, he put a parcel — a sma’ parcel — under my charge, 
and he gave me some siller, and desired me to get him half-a- 
dozen ruffled sarks, and Peg Pasley’s in hands wi’ them e’en 
now; they may serve him to gang up the LawnmarkeP in, 
the scoundrel !’ Mr. Glossin then demanded to see the 
packet, but here mine hostess demurred. 

‘She didna ken — she wad not say but justice should take 
its course — but when a thing was trusted to ane in her way, 
doubtless they were responsible; but she suld cry in Deacon 
Bearcliff, and if Mr. Glossin liked to tak an inventar o’ the 
property, and gie her a receipt before the Deacon — or, what 
she wad like muckle better, an it could be sealed up and left 
in Deacon Bearcliff’s hands — it wad mak her mind easy. 
She was for naething but justice on a’ sides.’ 

Mrs. Mac-Candlish’s natural sagacity and acquired sus- 
picion being inflexible, Glossin sent for Deacon Bearcliff, to 
speak ‘anent the villain that had shot Mr. Charles Hazle- 
wood.’ The Deacon accordingly made his appearance with 

^ The procession of the criminals to the gallows of old took that 
direction, moving, as the school-boy rhyme had it. 

Up the Lawnmarket, 

Down the West Bow, 

Up the lang ladder. 

And down the little tow. 


214 


GUY MANNERING 


his wig awry, owing to the hurry with which, at this sum- 
mons of the Justice, he had exchanged it for the Kilmarnock 
cap in which he usually attended his customers. Mrs. Mac- 
Candlish then produced the parcel deposited with her by 
Brown, in which was found the gipsy’s purse. On perceiv- 
ing the value of the miscellaneous contents, Mrs. Mac-Cand- 
lish internally congratulated herself upon the precautions she 
had taken before delivering them up to Glossin, while he, 
with an appearance of disinterested candour, was the first to 
propose they should be properly inventoried, and deposited 
with Deacon Bearcliff, until they should be sent to the 
Crown-office. ‘He did not,’ he observed, ‘like to be person- 
ally responsible for articles which seemed of considerable 
value, and had doubtless been acquired by the most nefarious 
practices.’ 

He then examined the paper in which the purse had been 
wrapt up. It was the back of a letter addressed to V. Brown, 
Esquire, but the rest of the address was torn away. The 
landlady, now as eager to throw light upon the criminal’s es- 
cape as she had formerly been desirous of withholding it, for 
the miscellaneous contents of the purse argued strongly to 
her mind that all was not right, — Mrs. Mac-Candlish, I say, 
now gave Glossin to understand that her postilion and hostler 
had both seen the stranger upon the ice that day when young 
Hazlewood was wounded. 

Our readers’ old acquaintance Jock Jabos was first sum- 
moned, and admitted frankly that he had seen and conversed 
upon the ice that morning with a stranger, who, he under- 
stood, had lodged at the Gordon Arms the night before. 

‘What turn did your conversation take?’ said Glossin. 

‘Turn? ou, we turned nae gate at a’, but just keepit straight 
forward upon the ice like.’ 

‘Well, but what did ye speak about?’ 

‘Ou, he just asked questions like ony ither stranger,’ an- 
swered the postilion, possessed, as it seemed, with the refrac- 
tory and uncommunicative spirit which had left his mistress. 

‘But about what?’ said Glossin. 

‘Ou, just about the folk that was playing at the curling, 
and about* auld Jock Stevenson that was at the cock, and 
about the leddies, and sic like.’ 

215 


GUY MANNERING 


'What ladies? and what did he ask about them, Jock?’ said 
the interrogator. 

'What leddies? Ou, it was Miss Jowlia Mannering and 
Miss Lucy Bertram, that ye ken fu’ weel yoursell, Mr. Glos- 
sin; they were walking wi’ the young Laird of Hazlewood 
upon the ice.’ 

'And what did you tell him about them ?’ demanded Glossin. 

'Tut, we just said that was Miss Lucy Bertram of Ellan- 
gowan, that should ance have had a great estate in the coun- 
try; and that was Miss Jowlia Mannering, that was to be 
married to young Hazlewood, see as she was hinging on his 
arm. We just spoke about our country clashes like; he was 
a very frank man.’ 

'Well, and what did he say in answer?’ 

'Ou, he just stared at the young leddies very keen like, and 
asked if it was for certain that the marriage was to be be- 
tween Miss Mannering and young Hazlewood; and I an- 
swered him that it was for positive and absolute certain, as I 
had an undoubted right to say sae, for my third cousin Jean 
Clavers (she’s a relation o’ your ain, Mr. Glossin, ye wad ken 
Jean lang syne?), she’s sib to the housekeeper at Wood- 
bourne, and she’s tell’d me mair than ance that there was 
naething could be mair likely.’ 

'And what did the stranger say when you told him all this ?’ 
said Glossin. 

'Say?’ echoed the postilion, 'he said naething at a’; he just 
stared at them as they walked round the loch upon the ice, as 
if he could have eaten them, and he never took his ee aff 
them, or said another word, or gave another glance at the 
bonspiel, though there was the finest fun amang the curlers 
ever was seen ; and he turned round and gaed aff the. loch by 
the kirk-stile through Woodbourne fir-plantings, and we saw 
nae mair o’ him.’ 

'Only think,’ said Mrs. Mac-Can dlish, 'what a hard heart 
he maun hae had, to think o’ hurting the poor young gentle- 
man in the very presence of the leddy he was to be mar- 
ried to!’ 

'O, Mrs. Mac-Candlish,’ said Glossin, 'there’s been many 
cases such as that on the record ; doubtless he was seeking 
revenge where it would be deepest and sweetest.’ 

216 


GUY MANNERING 


‘God pity us !’ said Deacon Bearcliff, ‘we’re puir frail crea- 
tures when left to oursells! Ay, he forgot wha said, “Ven- 
geance is Mine, and I will repay it.” ’ 

‘Weel, aweel, sirs,’ said Jabos, whose hard-headed and un- 
cultivated shrewdness seemed sometimes to start the game 
when others beat the bush — ‘weel, weel, ye may be a’ mis- 
ta’en yet; I’ll never believe that a man would lay a plan to 
shoot another wi’ his ain gun. Lord help ye, I was the keep- 
er’s assistant down at the Isle mysell, and I’ll uphaud it the 
biggest man in Scotland shouldna take a gun frae me or I 
had weized the slugs through him, though I’m but sic a little 
feckless body, fit for naething but the outside o’ a saddle and 
the fore-end o’ a poschay; na, na, nae living man wad ven- 
ture on that. I’ll wad my best buckskins, and they were 
new CO ft at Kirkcudbright Fair, it’s been a chance job after 
a’. But if ye hae naething mair to say to me, I am thinking 
I maun gang and see my beasts fed,’ and he departed ac- 
cordingly. 

The hostler, who had accompanied him, gave evidence to 
the same purpose. He and Mrs. Mac-Candlish were then re- 
interrogated whether Brown had no arms with him on that 
unhappy morning. ‘None,’ they said, ‘but an ordinary bit 
cutlass or hanger by his side.’ 

‘Now,’ said the Deacon, taking Glossin by the button (for, 
in considering this intricate subject, he had forgot Glossin’s 
new accession of rank), ‘this is but doubtfu’ after a’, Maister 
Gilbert; for it was not sae dooms likely that he would go 
down into battle wi’ sic sma’ means.’ 

Glossin extricated himself from the Deacon’s grasp and 
from the discussion, though not with rudeness ; for it was his 
present interest to buy golden opinions from all sorts of 
people. He inquired the price of tea and sugar, and spoke 
of providing himself for the year; he gave Mrs. Mac-Cand- 
lish directions to have a handsome entertainment in readiness 
for a party of five friends whom he intended to invite to dine 
with him at the Gordon Arms next Saturday week; and, 
lastly, he gave a half-crown to Jock Jabos, whom the hostler 
had deputed to hold his steed. 

‘Weel,’ said the Deacon to Mrs. Mac-Candlish, as he ac- 
cepted her offer of a glass of bitters at the bar, ‘the deil’s no 

217 


GUY MANNERING 


sae ill as he’s ca’d. It’s pleasant to see a gentleman pay the 
regard to the business o’ the county that Mr. Glossin does.’ 

‘Ay, ’deed is’t, Deacon,’ answered the landlady ; ‘and yet I 
wonder our gentry leave their ain wark to the like o’ him. 
But as lang as siller’s current. Deacon, folk maunna look 
ower nicely at what king’s head’s on’t.’ 

‘I doubt Glossin will prove but shand after a’, mistress,’ 
said Jabos, as he passed through the little lobby beside the 
bar; ‘but this is a gude half-crown ony way.’ 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


A man that apprehends death to be no more dreadful but as a drunken 
sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of what’s past, present, or to 
come; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 


Measure for Measure. 


LOS SIN had made careful minutes of the information 



VJT derived from these examinations. They threw little 
light upon the story, so far as he understood its purport; 
but the better-informed reader has received through means 
of this investigation an account of Brown’s proceedings, be- 
tween the moment when we left him upon his walk to Kipple- 
tringan and the time when, stung by jealousy, he so rashly 
and unhappily presented himself before Julia Mannering, and 
well-nigh brought to a fatal termination the quarrel which 
his appearance occasioned. 

Glossin rode slowly back to Ellangowan, pondering on 
what he had heard, and more and more convinced that the 
active and successful prosecution of this mysterious business 
was an opportunity of ingratiating himself with Hazlewood 
and Mannering to be on no account neglected. Perhaps, 
also, he felt his professional acuteness interested in bringing 
it to a successful close. It was, therefore, with great pleas- 
ure that, on his return to his house from Kippletringan, he 
heard his servants announce hastily, ‘that Mac-Guffog, the 
thief-taker, and twa or three concurrents, had a man in hands 
in the kitchen waiting for his honour.’ 

He instantly jumped from horseback, and hastened into 
the house. ‘Send my clerk here directly, ye’ll find him copy- 


218 


GUY MANNERING 


ing the survey of the estate in the little green parlour. Set 
things to rights in my study, and wheel the great leathern 
chair up to the writing-table; set a stool for Mr. Scrow. 
Scrow (to the clerk, as he entered the presence-chamber), 
hand down Sir George Mackenzie On Crimes; open it at the 
section “Fw Publica et Privata/' and fold down a leaf at the 
passage “anent the bearing of unlawful weapons.” Now 
lend me a hand off with my muckle-coat, and hang it up in 
the lobby, and bid them bring up the prisoner, I trow I’ll sort 
him; but stay, first send up Mac-Guff og. Now, Mac-Guff og, 
where did ye find this chield ?’ 

Mac-Guffog, a stout, bandy-legged fellow, with a neck like 
a bull, a face like a firebrand, and a most portentous squint of 
the left eye, began, after various contortions by way of cour- 
tesy to the Justice, to tell his story, eking it out by sundry 
sly nods and knowing winks, which appeared to bespeak an 
intimate correspondence of ideas between the narrator and 
his principal auditor. ‘Your honour sees I went down to yon 
place that your honour spoke o’, that’s kept by her that your 
honour kens o’, by the sea-side. So says she, “What are you 
wanting here ? ye’ll be come wi’ a broom in your pocket frae 
Ellangowan ?” — So says I, “Deil a broom will come frae there 
awa, for ye ken,” says I, “his honour Ellangowan himsell in 
former times ” ’ 

‘Well, well,’ said Glossin, ‘no occasion to be particular, tell 
the essentials.’ 

‘Weel, so we sat niffering about some brandy that I said I 
wanted, till he came in.’ 

‘Who?’ 

‘He!’ pointing with his thumb inverted to the kitchen, 
where the prisoner was in custody. ‘So he had his griego 
wrapped close around him, and I judged he was not dry- 
handed ; so I thought it was best to speak proper, and so he 
believed I was a Manks man, and I kept ay between him and 
her, for fear she had whistled. And then we began to drink 
about, and then I betted he would not drink out a quartern of 
Hollands without drawing breath, and then he tried it, and 
just then Slounging Jock and Dick Spur’em came in, and we 
clinked the darbies on him, took him as quiet as a lamb ; and 
now he’s had his bit sleep out, and is as fresh as a May 

219 


GUY MANNERING 


gowan, to answer what your honour likes to speir/ This 
narrative, delivered with a wonderful quantity of gesture and 
grimace, received at the conclusion the thanks and praises 
which the narrator expected. 

‘Had he no arms?’ asked the Justice. 

‘Ay, ay, they are never without barkers and slashers.’ 

‘Any papers?’ 

‘This bundle,’ delivering a dirty pocket-book. 

‘Go downstairs then, Mac-Guffog, and be in waiting.’ The 
officer left the room. 

The clink of irons was immediately afterwards heard upon 
the stair, and in two or three minutes a man was introduced, 
handcuffed and fettered. He was thick, brawny, and muscu- 
lar, and although his shagged and grizzled hair marked an 
age somewhat advanced, and his stature was rather low, he 
appeared, nevertheless, a person whom few would have cho- 
sen to cope with in personal conflict. His coarse and savage 
features were still flushed, and his eye still reeled under the 
influence of the strong potation which had proved the imme- 
diate , cause of his seizure. But the sleep, though short, 
which Mac-Guffog had allowed him, and still more a sense 
of the peril of his situation, had restored to him the full use 
of his faculties. The worthy judge and the no less estimable 
captive looked at each other steadily for along time without 
speaking. Glossin apparently recognised his prisoner, but 
seemed at a loss how to proceed with his investigation. At 
length he broke silence. — ‘Soh, Captain, this is you? you have 
been a stranger on this coast for some years.’ 

‘Stranger?’ replied the other. ‘Strange enough, I think; 
for hold me der deyvil, if I been ever here before.’ 

‘That won’t pass, Mr. Captain.’ 

‘That must pass, Mr. Justice, sapperment!’ 

‘And who will you be pleased to call yourself, then, for the 
present,’ said Glossin, ‘just until I shall bring some other 
folks to refresh your memory concerning who you are, or at 
least who you have been?’ 

‘What bin I? donner and blitzen; I bin Jans Jansen, from 
Cuxhaven ; what sail Ich bin ?’ 

Glossin took from a case which was in the apartment a pair 
of small pocket pistols, which he loaded with ostentatious 

220 








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•*1 


GUY MANNERING 


care. ‘You may retire/ said he to his clerk, ‘and carry the 
people with you, Scrow; but wait in the lobby within call.' 

The clerk would have offered some remonstrances to his 
patron on the danger of remaining alone with such a desper- 
ate character, although ironed beyond the possibility of active 
exertion, but Glossin waved him off impatiently. When he 
had left the room the Justice took two short turns through 
the apartment, then drew his chair opposite to the prisoner, 
so as to confront him fully, placed the pistols before him in 
readiness, and said in a steady voice, ‘You are Dirk Hatter- 
aick of Flushing, are you not?' 

The prisoner turned his eye instinctively to the door, as if 
he apprehended some one was listening. Glossin rose, 
opened the door, so that from the chair in which his prisoner 
sate he might satisfy himself there was no eavesdropper 
within hearing, then shut it, resumed his seat, and repeated 
his question, ‘You are Dirk Hatteraick, formerly of the 
“Yungfrauw Hagenslaapen," are you not?' 

‘Tausend deyvils! and if you know that, why ask me?’ said 
the prisoner. 

‘Because I am surprised to see you in the very last place 
where you ought to be, if you regard your safety,’ observed 
Glossin, coolly. 

‘Der deyvil! no man regards his own safety that speaks 
so to me!' 

‘What ? unarmed, and in irons ! well said. Captain !’ replied 
Glossin, ironically. ‘But, Captain, bullying won’t do; you’ll 
hardly get out of this country without accounting for a little 
accident that happened at Warroch Point a few years ago.’ 

Hatteraick’s looks grew black as midnight. 

‘For my part,’ continued Glossin, ‘I have no particular 
wish to be hard upon an old acquaintance ; but I must do my 
duty. I shall send you off to Edinburgh in a post-chaise and 
four this very day.’ 

‘Poz donner ! you would not do that ?’ said Hatteraick, in a 
lower and more humbled tone; ‘why, you had the matter of 
half a cargo in bills on Vanbeest and Vanbruggen.’ 

‘It is so. long since. Captain Hatteraick,’ answered Glossin, 
superciliously, ‘that I really forget how I was recompensed 
for my trouble.’ 


221 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Your trouble? your silence, you mean.’ 

‘It was an affair in the course of business,’ said Glossin, 
‘and I have retired from business for some time.’ 

‘Ay, but I have a notion that I could make you go steady 
about and try the old course again,’ answered Dirk Hatter- 
aick. ‘Why, man, hold me der deyvil, but I meant to visit 
you and tell you something that concerns you.’ 

‘Of the boy?’ said Glossin, eagerly. 

‘Yaw, Mynheer,’ replied the Captain, coolly. 

‘He does not live, does he?’ 

‘As lifelich as you or I,’ said Hatteraick. 

‘Good God ! But in India ?’ exclaimed Glossin. 

‘No, -tausend deyvils, here ! on this dirty coast of yours,’ 
rejoined the prisoner. 

‘But, Hatteraick, this, — that is, if it be true, which I do 
not believe, — this will ruin us both, for he cannot but re- 
member your neat job; and for me, it will be productive of 
the worst consequences ! It will ruin us both, I tell you.’ 

‘I tell you,’ said the seaman, ‘it will ruin none but you; 
for I am done up already, and if I must strap for it, all shall 
out.’ 

‘Zounds,’ said the Justice, impatiently, ‘what brought you 
back to this coast like a madman?’ 

‘Why, all the gelt was gone, and the house was shaking, 
and I thought the job was clayed over^ and forgotten,’ an- 
swered the worthy skipper. 

‘Stay ; what can be done ?’ said Glossin, anxiously. ‘I dare 
not discharge you ; but might you not be rescued in the way ? 
Ay sure ! a word to Lieutenant Brown, and I would send the 
people with you by the coast-road.’ 

‘No, no ! that' won’t do. Brown’s dead, shot, laid in the 
locker, man ; the devil has the picking of him.’ 

‘Dead, shot? At Woodbourne, I suppose?’ replied Glossin. 

‘Yaw, Mynheer.’ 

Glossin paused; the sweat broke upon his brow with the 
agony of his feelings, while the hard-featured miscreant who 
sat opposite coolly rolled his tobacco in his cheek and squirted 
the juice into the fire-grate. ‘It would be ruin,’ said Glossin 
to himself, ‘absolute ruin, if the heir should reappear; and 
then what might be the consequence of conniving with these 

222 . 


GUY MANNERING 


men? Yet there is so little time to take measures. Hark 
you, Hatteraick ; I can't set you at liberty ; but I can put you 
! where you may set yourself at liberty, I always like to assist 
1 an old friend. I shall confine you in the old castle for to- 
' night, and give these people double allowance of grog. Mac- 
Gufifog will fall in the trap in which he caught you. The 
stancheons on the window of the strong room, as they call it, 
are wasted to pieces, and it is not above twelve feet from the 
level of the ground without, and the snow lies thick.’ 

‘But the darbies,’ said Hatteraick, looking upon his fetters. 

‘Hark ye,’ said Glossin, going to a tool chest, and taking 
out a small file, ‘there’s a friend for you, and you know the 
road to the sea by the stairs.’ Hatteraick shook his chains in 
ecstasy, as if he were already at liberty, and strove to extend 
his fettered hand towards his protector. Glossin laid his 
finger upon his lips with a cautious glance at the door, and 
then proceeded in his instructions. ‘When you escape, you 
had better go to the Kaim of Derncleugh.’ 

‘Donner ! that howif is blown.’ 

‘The devil ! well, then, you may steal my skiff that lies on 
the beach there, and away. But you must remain snug at the 
Point of Warroch till I come to see you.’ 

‘The Point of Warroch?’ said Hatteraick, his countenance 
again falling; ‘what, in the cave, I suppose? I would rather 
it were anywhere else ; es spuckt da : they say for certain that 
he walks. But, donner and blitzen ! I never shunned him 
alive, and I won’t shun him dead. Strafe mich helle ! it shall 
never be said Dirk Hatteraick feared either dog or devil ! So 
I am to wait there till I see you?’ 

‘Ay, ay,’ answered Glossin, ‘and now I must call in the 
men.’ He did so accordingly. 

‘I can make nothing of Captain Jansen, as he calls himself, 
Mac-Guffog, and it’s now too late to bundle him off to the 
county jail. Is there not a strong room up yonder in the old 
castle ?’ 

‘Ay is there, sir; my uncle the constable ance kept a man 
there for three days in auld Ellangowan’s time. But there 
was an unco dust about it; it was tried in the Inner House 
afore the Feifteen.’ 

‘I know all that, but this person will not stay there very 
223 


GUVi MANNERING 


long ; it’s only a makeshift for a night, a mere lock-up house 
till farther examination. There is a small room through 
which it opens ; you may light a fire for yourselves there, and 
ril send you plenty of stuff to make you comfortable. But be 
sure you lock the door upon the prisoner; and, hark ye, let 
him have a fire in the strong room too, the season requires it. 
Perhaps he’ll make a clean breast to-morrow.’ 

With these instructions, and with a large allowance of food 
and liquor, the Justice dismissed his party to keep guard for 
the night in the old castle, under the full hope and belief that 
they would neither spend the night in watching nor prayer. 

There was little fear that Glossin himself should that night 
sleep over-sound. His situation was perilous in the extreme, 
for the schemes of a life of villainy seemed at once to be 
crumbling around and above him. He laid himself to rest, 
and tossed upon his pillow for a long time in vain. At length 
he fell asleep, but it was only to dream of his patron, now 
as he had last seen him, with the paleness of death upon his 
features, then again transformed into all the vigour and come- 
liness of youth, approaching to expel him from the mansion- 
house of his fathers. Then he dreamed that, after wandering 
long over a wild heath, he came at length to an inn, from 
which sounded the voice of revelry ; and that when he entered 
the first person he met was Frank Kennedy, all smashed and 
gory, as he had lain on the beach at Warroch Point, but with 
a reeking punch-bowl in his hand. ^Then the scene changed 
to a dungeon, where he heard Dirk Hatteraick, whom he im- 
agined to be under sentence of death, confessing his crimes 
to a clergyman. ‘After the bloody deed was done,’ said the 
penitent, ‘we retreated into a cave close beside, the secret of 
which was known but to one man in the country; we were 
debating what to do with the child, and we thought of giving 
it up to the gipsies, when we heard the cries of the pursuers 
hallooing to each other. One man alone came straight to our 
cave, and it was that man who knew the secret ; but we made 
him our friend at the expense of half the value of the goods 
saved. By his advice we carried off the child to Holland in 
our consort, which came the following night to take us from 
the coast. That man was ’ 

‘No, I deny it! it was not I’ said Glossin, in half-uttered 
224 


GUY MANNERING 


accents; and, struggling in his agony to express his denial 
more distinctly, he awoke. 

It was, however, conscience that had prepared this mental 
phantasmagoria. The truth was that, knowing much better 
than any other person the haunts of the smugglers, he had, 
while the others were searching in different directions, gone 
straight to the cave, even before he had learned the murder of 
Kennedy, whom he expected to find their prisoner. He came 
upon them with some idea of mediation, but found them in 
the midst of their guilty terrors, while the rage which had 
hurried them on to murder began, with all but Hatteraick, to 
sink into remorse and fear. Glossin was then indigent and 
greatly in debt, but he was already possessed of Mr. Ber- 
tram’s ear, and, aware of the facility of his disposition, he 
saw no difficulty in enriching himself at his expense, provided 
the heir-male were removed, in which case the estate became 
the unlimited property of the weak and prodigal father. 
Stimulated by present gain and the prospect of contingent 
advantage, he accepted the bribe which the smugglers offered 
in their terror, and connived at, or rather encouraged, their 
intention of carrying away the child of his benefactor, who, 
if left behind, was old enough to have described the scene of 
blood which he had witnessed. The only palliative which 
the ingenuity of Glossin could offer to his conscience was, 
that the temptation was great, and came suddenly upon him, 
embracing as it were the very advantages on which his mind 
had so long rested, and promising to relieve him from dis- 
tresses which must have otherwise speedily overwhelmed 
him. Besides, he endeavoured to think that self-preserva- 
tion rendered his conduct necessary. He was, in some de- 
gree, in the power of the robbers, and pleaded hard with his 
conscience that, had he declined their offers, the assistance 
which he could have called for, though not distant, might 
not have arrived in time to save him from men who, on less 
provocation, had just committed murder. 

Galled with the anxious forebodings of a guilty conscience, 
Glossin now arose and looked out upon the night. The scene 
which we have already described in the beginning of the 
volume was now covered with snow, and the brilliant, though 
waste, whiteness of the land gave to the sea by contrast a 

15 225 


GUY MANNERING 


dark and livid tinge. A landscape covered with snow, 
though abstractedly it may be called beautiful, has, both from 
the association of cold and barrenness and from its compara- 
tive infrequency, a wild, strange, and desolate appearance. 
Objects well known to us in their common state have either 
disappeared, or are so strangely varied and disguised that we 
seem gazing on an unknown world. But it was not with 
such reflections that the mind of this bad man was occupied. 
His eye was upon the gigantic and gloomy outlines of the old 
castle, where, in a flanking tower of enormous size and thick- 
ness, glimmered two lights, one from the window of the 
strong room, where Hatteraick was confined, the other from 
that of the adjacent apartment, occupied by his keepers. 
‘Has he made his escape, or will he be able to do so? Have 
these men watched, who never watched before, in order to 
complete my ruin? If morning finds him there, he must be 
committed to prison; Mac-Morlan or some other person will 
take the matter up; he will be detected, convicted, and will 
tell all in revenge !’ 

While these racking thoughts glided rapidly through Glos- 
sin’s mind, he observed one of the lights obscured, as by an 
opake body placed at the window. What a moment of in- 
terest ! ‘He has got clear of his irons ! he is working at the 
stancheons of the window! they are surely quite decayed, 
they must give way. O God! they have fallen outward, I 
heard them clink among the stones ! the noise cannot fail to 
wake them. Furies seize his Dutch awkwardness ! The 
light burns free again ; they have torn him from the window, 
and are binding him in the room ! No ! he had only retired 
an instant on the alarm of the falling bars ; he is at the win- 
dow again, and the light is quite obscured now ; he is getting 
out r 

A heavy sound, as of a body dropped from a height among 
the snow, announced that Hatteraick had completed his es- 
cape, and shortly after Glossin beheld a dark figure, like a 
shadow, steal along the whitened beach and reach the spot 
where the skiff lay. New cause for fear! ‘His single 
strength will be unable to float her,’ said Glossin to himself ; 
‘I must go to the rascal’s assistance. But no ! he has got her 
off, and now, thank God, her sail is spreading itself against 


GUY MANNERING 


the moon ; ay, he has got the breeze now ; would to heaven it 
were a tempest, to sink him to the bottom !’ 

After this last cordial wish, he continued watching the 
progress of the boat as it stood away towards the Point of 
Warroch, until he could no longer distinguish the dusky sail 
from the gloomy waves over which it glided. Satisfied then 
that the immediate danger was averted, he retired with some- 
what more composure to his guilty pillow. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Why dost not comfort me, and help me out 
From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? 

Titus Andronicus. 

O N the next morning, great was the alarm and confusion 
of the officers when they discovered the escape of their 
prisoner. Mac-Guffog appeared before Glossin with a head 
perturbed with brandy and fear, and incurred a most severe 
reprimand for neglect of duty. The resentment of the Jus- 
tice appeared only to be suspended by his anxiety to recover 
possession of the prisoner, and the thief-takers, glad to es- 
cape from his awful and incensed presence, were sent off in 
every direction (except the right one) to recover their pris- 
oner, if possible. Glossin particularly recommended a care- 
ful search at the Kaim of Derncleugh, which was occasionally 
occupied under night by vagrants of different descriptions. 
Having thus dispersed his myrmidons in various directions, 
he himself hastened by devious paths through the wood of 
Warroch to his appointed interview with Hatteraick, from 
whom he hoped to learn at more leisure than last night’s con- 
ference admitted the circumstances attending the return of 
the heir of Ellangowan to his native country. 

With manoeuvres like those of a fox when he doubles to 
avoid the pack, Glossin strove to approach the place of ap- 
pointment in a manner which should leave no distinct track 
of his course. 'Would to Heaven it would snow,’ he said, 
looking upward, 'and hide these footprints. Should one of 
the officers light upon them, he would run the scent up like 

227 


GUY MANNERING 


a bloodhound and surprise us. I must get down upon the 
sea-beach, and contrive to creep along beneath the rocks.’ 

And accordingly he descended from the cliffs with some 
difficulty, and scrambled along between the rocks and the 
advancing tide; now looking up to see if his motions were 
watched from the rocks above him, now casting a jealous 
glance to mark if any boat appeared upon the sea, from which 
his course might be discovered. 

But even the feelings of selfish apprehension were for a 
time superseded, as Glossin passed the spot where Kennedy’s 
body had been found. It was marked by the fragment of 
rock which had been precipitated from the cliff above, either 
with the body or after it. The mass was now encrusted with 
small shell-fish, and tasselled with tangle and seaweed; but 
still its shape and substance were different from those of the 
other rocks which lay scattered around. His voluntary 
walks, it will readily be believed, had never led to this spot; 
so that, finding himself now there for the first time after the 
terrible catastrophe, the scene at once recurred to his mind 
with all its accompaniments of horror. He remembered 
how, like a guilty thing, gliding from the neighbouring place 
of concealment, he had mingled with eagerness, yet with cau- 
tion, among the terrified group who surrounded the corpse, 
dreading lest any one should ask from whence he came. He 
remembered, too, with what conscious fear he had avoided 
gazing upon that ghastly spectacle. The wild scream of his 
patron, ‘My bairn ! my bairn !’ again rang in his ears. ‘Good 
God !’ he exclaimed, ‘and is all I have gained worth the agony 
of that moment, and the thousand anxious fears and horrors 
which have since embittered my life! O how I wish that I 
lay where that wretched man lies, and that he stood here in 
life and health ! But these regrets are all too late.’ 

Stiffing, therefore, his feelings, he crept forward to the 
cave, which was so near the spot where the body was found 
that the smugglers might have heard from their hiding-place 
the various conjectures of the bystanders concerning the fate 
of their victim. But nothing could be more completely con- 
cealed than the entrance to their asylum. The opening, not 
larger than that of a fox-earth, lay in the face of the cliff 
directly behind a large black rock, or rather upright stone, 

228 


GUY MANNERING 


which served at once to conceal it from strangers and as a 
mark to point out its situation to those who used it as a place 
of retreat. The space between the stone and the cliff was ex- 
ceedingly narrow, and, being heaped with sand and other 
rubbish, the most minute search would not have discovered 
the mouth of the cavern without removing those substances 
which the tide had drifted before it. For the purpose of 
farther concealment, it was usual with the contraband traders 
who frequented this haunt, after they had entered, to stuff 
the mouth with withered seaweed, loosely piled together as 
if carried there by the waves. Dirk Hatteraick had not for- 
gotten this precaution. 

Glossin, though a bold and hardy man, felt his heart throb 
and his knees knock together when he prepared to enter this 
den of secret iniquity, in order to hold conference with a 
felon, whom he justly accounted one of the most desperate 
and depraved of men. ‘But he has no interest to injure me,’ 
was his consolatory reflection. He examined his pocket- 
pistols, however, before removing the weeds and entering the 
cavern, which he did upon hands and knees. The passage, 
which at first was low and narrow, just admitting entrance to 
a man in a creeping posture, expanded after a few yards into 
' a high arched vault of considerable width. The bottom, as- 
cending gradually, was covered with the purest sand. Ere 
Glossin had got upon his feet, the hoarse yet suppressed 
voice of Hatteraick growled through the recesses of the cave : 

‘Hagel and donner ! be’st du ?’ 

‘Are you in the dark?’ 

‘Dark ? der deyvil ! ay,’ said Dirk Hatteraick ; ‘where should 
I have a glim?’ 

‘I have brought light’ ; and Glossin accordingly produced a 
tinder-box and lighted a small lantern. 

‘You must kindle some fire too, for hold mich der deyvil, 
Ich bin ganz gefrorne!’ 

‘It is a cold place, to be sure,’ said Glossin, gathering to- 
gether some decayed staves of barrels and pieces of wood, 
which had perhaps lain in the cavern since Hatteraick was 
there last. 

‘Cold ? Snow-wasser and hagel ! it’s perdition ; I could 
only keep myself alive by rambling up and down this d — d 

229 


GUY MANNERING 


vault, and thinking about the merry rouses we have had in it/ 

The flame then began to blaze brightly, and Hatteraick 
hung his bronzed visage and expanded his hard and sinewy 
hands over it, with an avidity resembling that of a famished 
wretch to whom food is exposed. The light showed his sav- 
age and stern features, and the smoke, which in his agony of 
cold he seemed to endure almost to suffocation, after circling 
round his head, rose to the dim and rugged roof of the cave, 
through which it escaped by some secret rents or clefts in the 
rock ; the same doubtless that afforded air to the cavern when 
the tide was in, at which time the aperture to the sea was 
filled with water. 

‘And now I have brought you some breakfast,’ said Glos- 
sin, producing some cold meat and a flask of spirits. The 
latter Hatteraick eagerly seized upon and applied to his 
mouth; and, after a hearty draught, he exclaimed with great 
rapture, ‘Das schmeckt ! That is good, that warms the liver !’ 
Then broke into the fragment of a High-Dutch song, — 

‘ Saufen Bier und Brantewein, 

Schmeissen alle die Fenstern ein ; 

Ich bin liederlich, 

Du bist liederlich; 

Sind wir nicht liederlich Leute a?’ 

‘Well said, my hearty Captain!’ cried Glossin, endeavour- 
ing to catch the tone of revelry, — 

‘ Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers, 

Dash the window-glass to shivers I 

For three wild lads were we, brave boys. 

And three wild lads were we; 

Thou on the land, and I on the sand. 

And Jack on the gallows-tree I 

That’s it, my bully-boy ! Why, you’re alive again now ! And 
now let us talk about our business.’ 

‘Your business, if you please,’ said Hatteraick. ‘Hagel 
and donner! mine was done when I got out of the bilboes.’ 

‘Have patience, my good friend; I’ll convince you our in- 
terests are just the same.’ 

Hatteraick gave a short dry cough, and Glossin, after a 
pause, proceeded. 

‘How came you to let the boy escape?’ 

230 


GUY MANNERING 


Why, fluch and blitzen ! he was no charge of mine. Lieu- 
tenant Brown gave him to his cousin that’s in the Middle- 
burgh house of Vanbeest and Vanbruggen, and told him 
some goose’s gazette about his being taken in a skirmish with 
the landsharks ; he gave him for a foot-boy. Me let him es- 
cape ! the bastard kinchin should have walked the plank ere I 
troubled myself about him.’ 

‘Well, and was he bred a foot-boy then?’ 

‘Nein, nein; the kinchin got about the old man’s heart, and 
he gave him his own name, and bred him up in the office, 
and then sent him to India; I believe he would have packed 
him back here, but his nephew told him it would do up the 
free trade for many a day if the youngster got back to Scot- 
land.’ 

‘Do you think the younker knows much of his own origin 
I now ?’ 

I ‘Deyvill’ replied Hatteraick, ‘how should I tell what he 
I knows now? But he remembered something of it long. 

When he was but ten years old he persuaded another Satan’s 
I limb of an English bastard like himself to steal my lugger’s 
khan — boat — what do you call it ? to return to his country, as 
he called it ; fire him ! Before we could overtake them they 
had the skiff out of channel as far as the Deurloo; the boat 
might have been lost.’ 

‘I wish to Heaven she had, with him in her!’ ejaculated 
Glossin. 

‘Why, I was so angry myself that, sapperment ! I did give 
him a tip over the side ; but split him I the comical little devil 
swam like a duck; so I made him swim astern for a mile 
to teach him manners, and then took him in when he was 
sinking. By the knocking Nicholas! he’ll plague you, now 
he’s come over the herring-pond ! When he was so high he 
had the spirit of thunder and lightning.’ 

‘How did he get back from India ?’ 

‘Why, how should I know? The house there was done 
up; and that gave us a shake at Middleburgh, I think; so 
they sent me again to see what could be done among my old 
acquaintances here, for we held old stories were done away 
and forgotten. So I had got a pretty trade on foot within 
the last two trips ; but that stupid houndsfoot schelm. Brown, 

231 


GUY MANNERING 


has knocked it on the head again, I suppose, with getting 
himself shot by the colonel-man.’ 

‘Why were not you with them ?’ 

‘Why, you see, sapperment ! I fear nothing ; but it was too 
far within land, and I might have been scented.’ 

‘True. But to return to this youngster ’ 

‘Ay, ay, donner and blitzen! he’s your affair,’ said the 
Captain. 

‘How do you really know that he is in this country?’ 

‘Why, Gabriel saw him up among the hills.’ 

‘Gabriel ! who is he ?’ 

‘A fellow from the gipsies, that, about eighteen years since, 
was pressed on board that d — d fellow Pritchard’s sloop-of- 
war. It was he came off and gave us warning that the 
“Shark” was coming round upon us the day Kennedy was 
done; and he told us how Kennedy had given the informa- 
tion. The gipsies and Kennedy had some quarrel besides. 
This Gab went to the East Indies in the same ship with your 
younker, and, sapperment ! knew him well, though the other 
did not remember him. Gab kept out of his eye though, as 
he had served the States against England, and was a deserter 
to boot; and he sent us word directly, that we might know 
of his being here, though it does not concern us a rope’s end.’ 

‘So, then, really, and in sober earnest, he is actually in this 
country, Hatteraick, between friend and friend? asked Glos- 
sin, seriously. 

‘Wetter and donner, yaw! What do you take me for?’ 

‘For a bloodthirsty, fearless miscreant!’ thought Glossin 
internally; but said aloud, ‘And which of your people was it 
that shot young Hazlewood?’ 

‘Sturmwetter !’ said the Captain, ‘do ye think we were 
mad ? none of uSj man. Gott ! the country was too hot for 
the trade already with that d — d frolic of Brown’s, attacking 
what you call Woodbourne House.’ 

‘Why, I am told,’ said Glossin, ‘it was Brown who shot 
Hazlewood ?’ 

‘Not our lieutenant, I promise you; for he was laid six 
feet deep at Derncleugh the day before the thing happened. 
Tausend deyvils, man ! do ye think that he could rise out of 
the earth to shoot another man ?’ 

232 


GUY MANNERING 


A light here began to break upon Glossin's confusion of 
ideas. ‘Did you not say that the younker, as you call him, 
goes by the name of Brown ?’ 

‘Of Brown? yaw; Vanbeest Brown. Old Vanbeest Brown, 
of our Vanbeest and Vanbruggen, gave him his own name, 
he did.’ 

‘Then,’ said Glossin, rubbing his hands, ‘it is he, by 
Heaven, who has committed this crime !’ 

‘And what have we to do with that ?’ demanded Hatteraick. 

Glossin paused, and, fertile in expedients, hastily ran over 
his project in his own mind, and then drew near the 
smuggler with a confidential air. ‘You know, my dear Hat- 
teraick, it is our principal business to get rid of this young 
man ?’ 

‘Umph !’ answered Dirk Hatteraick. 

‘Not,’ continued Glossin — ‘not that I would wish any per- 
sonal harm to him — if — if — if we can do without. Now, he 
is liable to be seized upon by justice, both as bearing the same 
name with your lieutenant, who was engaged in that affair 
at Woodbourne, and for firing at young Hazlewood with in- 
tent to kill or wound.’ 

‘Ay, ay,’ said Dirk Hatteraick; ‘but what good will that 
do you? He’ll be loose again as soon as he shows himself 
to carry other colours.’ 

‘True, my dear Dirk; well noticed, my friend Hatteraick! 
But there is ground enough for a temporary imprisonment 
till he fetch his proofs from England or elsewhere, my good 
friend. I understand the law. Captain Hatteraick, and I’ll 
take it upon me, simple Gilbert Glossin of Ellangowan, jus- 
tice of peace for the county of , to refuse his bail, if he 

should offer the best in the country, until he is brought up 
for a second examination ; now where d’ye think I’ll incar- 
cerate him?’ 

‘Hagel and wetter! what do I care?’ 

‘Stay, my friend ; you do care a great deal. Do you know 
your goods that were seized and carried to Woodbourne are 
now lying in the custom-House at Portanferry? (a small fish- 
ing-town). Now I will commit this younker ’ 

‘When you have caught him.’ 

‘Ay, ay, when I have caught him ; I shall not be long about 

233 


GUY MANNERING 


that. I will commit him to the workhouse, or bridewell, 
which you know is beside the custom-house.’ 

'Yaw, the rasp-house; I know it very well.’ 

‘I will take care that the redcoats are dispersed through the 
country ; you land at night with the crew of your lugger, re- 
ceive your own goods, and carry the younker Brown with 
you back to Flushing. Won’t that do?’ 

'Ay, carry him to Flushing,’ said the Captain, 'or — to 
America ?’ 

'Ay, ay, my friend.’ 

'Or — to Jericho?’ 

‘Psha! Wherever you have a mind.’ 

'Ay, or — pitch him overboard?’ 

'Nay, I advise no violence.’ 

'Nein, nein; you leave that to me. Sturmwetter! I know 
you of old. But, hark ye, what am I, Dirk Hatteraick, to be 
the better of this?’ 

'Why, is it not your interest as well as mine ?’ said Glossin ; 
'besides, I set you free this morning.’ 

*You set me free! Donner and deyvil! I set myself free. 
Besides, it was all in the way of your profession, and hap- 
pened a long time ago, ha, ha, ha I’ 

'Pshaw! pshaw! don’t let us jest; I am not against making 
a handsome compliment ; but it’s your affair as well as mine.’ 

'What do you talk of my affair ? is it not you that keep the 
younker’s whole estate from him? Dirk Hatteraick never 
touched a stiver of his rents.’ 

'Hush ! hush ! I tell you it shall be a joint business.’ 

‘Why, will ye give me half the kitt?’ 

‘What, half the estate ? D’ye mean we should set up house 
together at Ellangowan, and take the barony ridge about?’ 

‘Sturmwetter, no ! but you might give me half the value — 
half the gelt. Live with you ? nein. I would have a lusthaus 
of mine own on the Middleburgh dyke, and a blumengarten 
like a burgomaster’s.’ 

‘Ay, and a wooden lion at the door, and a painted sentinel 
in the garden, with a pipe in his mouth ! But, hark ye, Hat- 
teraick, what will all the tulips and flower-gardens and pleas- 
ure-houses in the Netherlands do for you if you are hanged 
f|4ere in Scotland?’ 


234 


GUY MANNERING 


Hatteraick’s countenance fell. ^Der deyvil ! hanged I’ 

Ay, hanged, mein Herr Captain. The devil can scarce 
save Dirk Hatteraick from being hanged for a murderer and 
kidnapper if the younker of Ellangowan should settle in this 
country, and if the gallant Captain chances to be caught here 
re-establishing his fair trade ! And I won’t say but, as peace 
is now so much talked of, their High Mightinesses may not 
hand him over to oblige their new allies, even if he remained 
in faderland.’ 

Toz hagel, blitzen, and donner ! I — I doubt you say true.’ 

‘Not,’ said Glossin, perceiving he had made the desired 
impression, ‘not that I am against being civil’; and he slid 
into Hatteraick’s passive hand a bank-note of some value. 

‘Is this all?’ said the smuggler. ‘You had the price of half 
a cargo for winking at our job, and made us do your business 
too.’ 

‘But, my good friend, you forget : in this case you will re- 
cover all your own goods.’ 

‘Ay, at the risk of all our own necks; we could do that 
without you.’ 

‘I doubt that. Captain Hatteraick,’ said Glossin, drily ; 
‘because you would probably find a dozen redcoats at the 
custom-house, whom it must be my business, if we agree 
about this matter, to have removed. Come, come, I will be as 
liberal as I can, but you should have a conscience.’ 

‘Now strafe mich der deyfel ! this provokes me more than all 
the rest! You rob and you murder, and you want me to 
rob and murder, and play the silver-cooper, or kidnapper, as 
you call it, a dozen times over, and then, hagel and wind- 
sturm ! you speak to me of conscience ! Can you think of no 
fairer way of getting rid of this unlucky lad?’ 

‘No, mein Herr; but as I commit him to your charge ’ 

‘To my charge ! to the charge of steel and gunpowder I and 
— well, if it must be, it must; but you have a tolerably good 
guess what’s like to come of it.’ 

‘O, my dear friend, I trust no degree of severity will be 
necessary,’ replied Glossin. 

‘Severity!’ said the fellow, with a kind of groan, ‘I wish 
you had had my dreams when I first came to this dog-hole, 
and tried to sleep among the dry seaweed. First, there was 

235 


GUY MANNERING 


that d— d fellow there, with his broken back, sprawling as 
he did when I hurled the rock over a-top on him, ha, ha ! 
You would have sworn he was lying on the floor where you 
stand, wriggling like a crushed frog, and then ’ 

‘Nay, my friend,’ said Glossin, interrupting him, ‘what 
signifies going over this nonsense? If you are turned chick- 
en-hearted, why, the game’s up, that’s all ; the game’s up with 
us both.’ 

‘Chicken-hearted? no. I have not lived so long upon the 
account to start at last, neither for devil nor Dutchman.’ 

‘Well, then, take another schnaps; the cold’s at your heart 
still. And now tell me, are any of your old crew with 
you ?’ 

‘Nein; all dead, shot, hanged, drowned, and damned. 
Brown was the last. All dead but Gipsy Gab, and he would 
go off the country for a spill of money ; or he’ll be quiet for 
his own sake; or old Meg, his aunt, will keep him quiet for 
hers.’ 

‘Which Meg?’ 

‘Meg Merrilies, the old devil’s limb of a gipsy witch.’ 

‘Is she still alive?’ 

‘Yaw.’ 

‘And in this country ?’ 

‘And in this country. She was at the Kaim of Derncleugh, 
at Vanbeest Brown’s last wake, as they call it, the other night, 
with two of my people, and some of her own blasted gipsies.’ 

‘That’s another breaker ahead. Captain! Will she not 
squeak, think ye?’ 

‘Not she ! she won’t start ; she swore by the salmon,^ if 
we did the kinchin no harm, she would never tell how the 
gauger got it. Why, man, though I gave her a wipe with my 
hanger in the heat of the matter, and cut her arm, and though 
she was so long after in trouble about it up at your borough- 
town there, der deyvil ! old Meg was as true as steel.’ 

‘Why, that’s true, as you say,’ replied Glossin. ‘And yet 
if she could be carried over to Zealand, or Hamburgh, or — 
or — anywhere else, you know, it were as well.’ 

Hatteraick jumped upright upon his feet, and looked at 


^ The great and inviolable oath of the strolling tribes. 

236 


GUY MANNERING 


Glossin from head to heel. ‘I don’t see the goat’s foot,’ he 
said, ‘and yet he must be the very deyvil! But Meg Mer- 
rilies is closer yet with the kobold than you are; ay, and I 
had never such weather as after having drawn her blood. 
Nein, nein, I’ll meddle with her no more; she’s a witch of the 
fiend, a real deyvil’s kind, — ^but that’s her affair. Donner and 
wetter ! I’ll neither make nor meddle ; that’s her work. But 
for the rest — why, if I thought the trade would not suffer, I 
would soon rid you of the younker, if you send me word when 
he’s under embargo.’ 

In brief and under tones the two worthy associates con- 
certed their enterprise, and agreed at which of his haunts 
Hatteraick should be heard of. The stay of his lugger on the 
coast was not difficult, as there were no king’s vessels there 
at the time, 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


You are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bids you. — 
Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians. 


Othello. 



HEN Glossin returned home he found, among other 


vv letters and papers sent to him, one of considerable 
importance. It was signed by Mr. Protocol, an attorney in 
Edinburgh, and, addressing him as the agent for Godfrey 
Bertram, Esq., late of Ellangowan, and his representatives, 
acquainted him with the sudden death of Mrs. Margaret Ber- 
tram of Singleside, requesting him to inform his clients 
thereof, in case they should judge it proper to have any per- 
son present for their interest at opening the repositories of the 
deceased. Mr. Glossin perceived at once that the letter-writer 
was unacquainted with the breach which had taken place be- 
tween him and his late patron. The estate of the deceased 
lady should by rights, as he well knew, descend to Lucy Ber- 
tram ; but it was a thousand to one that the caprice of the old 
lady might have altered its destination. After running over 
contingencies and probabilities in his fertile mind, to ascer- 
tain what sort of personal advantage might accrue to him 
from this incident, he could not perceive any mode of avail- 


237 


GUY MANNERING 


ing himself of it, except in so far as it might go to assist his 
plan of recovering, or rather creating, a character, the want 
of which he had already experienced, and was likely to feel 
yet more deeply. ‘I must place myself,’ he thought, 'on 
strong ground, that, if anything goes wrong with Dirk Hat- 
teraick’s project, I may have prepossessions in my favour at 
least.’ Besides, to do Glossin justice, bad as he was, he might 
feel some desire to compensate to Miss Bertram in a small 
degree, and in a case in which his own interest did not inter- 
fere with hers, the infinite mischief which he had occasioned 
to her family. He therefore resolved early the next morning 
to ride over to Woodbourne. 

It was not without hesitation that he took this step, hav- 
ing the natural reluctance to face Colonel Mannering which 
fraud and villainy have to encounter honour and probity. But 
he had great confidence in his own savoir faire. His talents 
were naturally acute, and by no means confined to the line of 
his profession. He had at different times resided a good deal 
in England, and his address was free both from country rus- 
ticity and professional pedantry; so that he had consider- 
able powers both of address and persuasion, joined to an 
unshaken effrontery, which he affected to disguise under 
plainness of manner. Confident, therefore, in himself, 
he appeared at Woodbourne about ten in the morning, 
and was admitted as a gentleman come to wait upon Miss 
Bertram. 

He did not announce himself until he was at the door 
of the breakfast-parlour, when the servant, by his desire, 
said aloud — ‘Mr. Clossin, to wait upon Miss Bertram.’ Lucy, 
remembering the last scene of her father’s existence, turned 
as pale as death, and had well-nigh fallen from her chair. 
Julia Mannering flew to her assistance, and they left the 
room together. There remained Colonel Mannering, Charles 
Hazlewood, with his arm in a sling, and the Dominie, whose 
gaunt visage and wall-eyes assumed a most hostile aspect on 
recognising Clossin. 

That honest gentleman, though somewhat abashed by the 
effect of his first introduction, advanced with confidence, and 
hoped he did not intrude upon the ladies. Colonel Manner- 
ing, in a very upright and stately manner, observed, that he 

238 


GUY MANNERING 

did not know to what he was to impute the honour of a visit 
from Mr. Glossin. 

‘Hem ! hem ! I took the liberty to wait upon Miss Bertram, 
Colonel Mannering, on account of a matter of business.’ 

‘If it can be communicated to Mr. Mac-Morlan, her agent, 
sir, I believe it will be more agreeable to Miss Bertram.’ 

‘I beg pardon. Colonel Mannering,’ said Glossin, making 
a wretched attempt at an easy demeanour ; ‘you are a man of 
the world ; there are some cases in which it is most prudent 
for all parties to treat with principals.’ 

‘Then,’ replied Mannering, with a repulsive air, ‘if Mr. 
Glossin will take the trouble to state his object in a letter, I 
will answer that Miss Bertram pays proper attention to it.’ 

‘Certainly,’ stammered Glossin ; ‘but there are cases in 
which a viva voce conference — Hem ! I perceive — I know — 
Colonel Mannering has adopted some prejudices which may 
make my visit appear intrusive; but I submit to his good 
sense, whether he ought to exclude me from a hearing with- 
out knowing the purpose of my visit, or of how much conse- 
quence it may be to the young lady whom he honours with his 
protection.’ 

‘Certainly, sir, I have not the least intention to do so,’ 
replied the Colonel. ‘I will learn Miss Bertram’s pleasure on 
the subject, and acquaint Mr. Glossin, if he can spare time to 
wait for her answer.’ So saying, he left the room. 

Glossin had still remained standing in the midst of the 
apartment. Colonel Mannering had made not the slightest 
motion to invite him to sit, and indeed had remained stand- 
ing himself during their short interview. When he left the 
room, however, Glossin seized upon a chair, and threw himself 
into it with an air between embarrassment and effrontery. He 
felt the silence of his companions disconcerting and oppres- 
sive, and resolved to interrupt it. 

‘A fine day, Mr. Sampson.’ 

The Dominie answered with something between an ac- 
quiescent grunt and an indignant groan. 

‘You never come down to see your old acquaintance on 
the Ellangowan property, Mr. Sampson. You would find 
most of the old stagers still stationary there. I have too 
much respect for the late family to disturb old residenters, 

239 


GUY MANNERING 


even under pretence of improvement. Besides, it’s not my 
way, I don’t like it; I believe, Mr. Sampson, Scripture par- 
ticularly condemns those who oppress the poor, and remove 
landmarks.’ 

‘Or who devour the substance of orphans,’ subjoined the 
Dominie. ‘Anathema, Maranatha !’ So saying, he rose, 
shouldered the folio which he had been perusing, faced to 
the right about, and marched out of the room with the strides 
of a grenadier. 

Mr. Glossin, no way disconcerted, or at least feeling it 
necessary not to appear so, turned to young Hazlewood, who 
was apparently busy with the newspaper. — ‘Any news, sir?’ 
Hazlewood raised his eyes, looked at him, and pushed the 
paper towards him, as if to a stranger in a coffee-house, then 
rose, and was about to leave the room. ‘I beg pardon, Mr. 
Hazlewood, but I can’t help wishing you joy of getting so 
easily over that infernal accident.’ This was answered by a 
sort pf inclination of the head, as slight and stiff as could 
well be imagined. Yet it encouraged our man of law to pro- 
ceed — ‘I can promise you, Mr. Hazlewood, few people have 
taken the interest in that matter which I have done, both for 
the sake of the country and on account of my particular re- 
spect for your family, which has so high a stake in it ; indeed, 
so very high a stake that, as Mr. Featherhead is turning old 
now, and as there’s a talk, since his last stroke, of his taking 
the Chiltern Hundreds, it might be worth your while to look 
about you. I speak as a friend, Mr. Hazlewood, and as one 
who understands the roll ; and if in going over it to- 
gether ’ 

‘I beg pardon, sir, but I have no views in which your as- 
sistance could be useful.’ 

‘O, very well, perhaps you are right ; it’s quite time enough, 
and I love to see a young gentleman cautious. But I was 
talking of your wound. I think I have got a clue to that 
business — I think I have, and if I don’t bring the fellow to 
condign punishment !’ 

‘I beg your pardon, sir, once more; but your zeal out- 
runs my wishes. I have every reason to think the wound was 
accidental; certainly it was not premeditated. Against in- 
gratitude and premeditated treachery, should you find any one 

240 


GUY MANNERING 


guilty of them, my resentment will be as warm as your own/ 
This was Hazlewood’s answer. 

‘Another rebuff,’ thought Glossin; T must try him upon 
the other tack.’ ‘Right, sir ; very nobly said ! I would have 
no more mercy on an ungrateful man than I would on a 
woodcock. And now we talk of sport (this was a sort of di- 
verting of the conversation which Glossin had learned from 
I his former patron), I see you often carry a gun, and I hope 
you will be soon able to take the field again. I observe you 
confine yourself always to your own side of the Hazleshaws 
burn. I hope, my dear sir, you will make no scruple of fol- 
lowing your game to the Ellangowan bank; I believe it is 
I rather the best exposure of the two for woodcocks, although 
both are capital.’ 

I As this offer only excited a cold and constrained bow, Glos- 
sin was obliged to remain silent, and was presently afterwards 
; somewhat relieved by the entrance of Colonel Mannering. 

‘I have detained you some time, I fear, sir,’ said he, ad- 
dressing Glossin; ‘I wished to prevail upon Miss Bertram to 
see you, as, in my opinion, her objections ought to give way 
I to the necessity of hearing in her own person what is stated to 
i be of importance that she should know. But I find that cir- 
I cumstances of recent occurrence, and not easily to be forgot- 
I ten, have rendered her so utterly repugnant to a personal in- 
i terview with Mr. Glossin that it would be cruelty to insist 
I upon it ; and she has deputed me to receive his commands, or 
; proposal, or, in short, whatever he may wish to say to her.’ 
j ‘Hem, hem ! I am sorry, sir — I am very sorry. Colonel 
I Mannering, that Miss Bertram should suppose — that any pre- 
judice, in short — or idea that anything on my part ’ 

‘Sir,’ said the inflexible Colonel, ‘where no accusation is 
made, excuses or explanations are unnecessary. Have you 
any objection to communicate to me, as Miss Bertram’s 
temporary guardian, the circumstances which you conceive to 
interest her?’ 

‘None, Colonel Mannering; she could not choose a more 
respectable friend, or one with whom I, in particular, would 
more anxiously wish to communicate frankly.’ 

‘Have the goodness to speak to the point, sir, if you 

please.’ 

16 


241 


GUY MANNERING 


Why, sir, it is not so easy all at once — but Mr. Hazlewood 
need not leave the room, — I mean so well to Miss Bertram 
that I could wish the whole world to hear my part of the con- 
ference.’ 

‘My friend Mr. Charles Hazlewood will not probably be 
anxious, Mr. Glossin, to listen to what cannot concern him. 
And now, when he has left us alone, let me pray you to be 
short and explicit in what you have to say. I am a soldier, 
sir, somewhat impatient of forms and introductions.’ So say- 
ing, he drew himself up in his chair and waited for Mr. Glos- 
sin’s communication. 

‘Be pleased to look at that letter,’ said Glossin, putti'ng 
Protocol’s epistle into Mannering’s hand, as the shortest way 
of stating his business. 

The Colonel read it and returned it, after pencilling the 
name of the writer in his memorandum-book. ‘This, sir, 
does not seem to require much discussion. I will see that 
Miss Bertram’s interest is attended to.’ 

‘But, sir, — but. Colonel Mannering,’ added Glossin, ‘there 
is another matter which no one can explain but myself. This 
lady — this Mrs. Margaret Bertram, to my certain knowledge, 
made a general settlement of her affairs in Miss Lucy Ber- 
tram’s favour while she lived with my old friend Mr. Ber- 
tram at Ellangowan. The Dominie — that was the name by 
which my deceased friend always called that very respectable 
man Mr. Sampson — he and I witnessed the deed. And she 
had full power at that time to make such a settlement, for she 
was in fee of the estate of Singleside even then, although it 
was life-rented by an elder sister. It was a whimsical settle- 
ment of old Singleside’s, sir; he pitted the two cats his 
daughters against each other, ha, ha, ha !’ 

‘Well, sir,’ said Mannering, without the slightest smile of 
sympathy, ‘but to the purpose. You say that this lady had 
power to settle her estate on Miss Bertram, and that she 
did so ?’ 

‘Even so. Colonel,’ replied Glossin. ‘I think I should un- 
derstand the law, I have followed it for many years ; and, 
though I have given it up to retire upon a handsome compe- 
tence, I did not throw away that knowledge which is pro- 
nounced better than house and land, and which I take to be 

242 


GUY MANNERING 


the knowledge of the law, since, as our common rhyme 
has it, 

’Tis most excellent, 

To win the land that’s gone and spent. 

No, no, I love the smack of the whip ; I have a little, a very 
' little law yet, at the service of my friends.’ 

Glossin ran on in this manner, thinking he had made a fa- 
vourable impression on Mannering. The Colonel, indeed, re- 
flected that this might be a most important crisis for Miss 
I Bertram’s interest, and resolved that his strong inclination 
to throw Glossin out at window or at door should not inter- 
; fere with it. He put a strong curb on his temper, and re- 
|i solved to listen with patience at least, if without complacency. 

I He therefore let Mr. Glossin get to the end of his self-con- 
' gratulations, and then asked him if he knew where the deed 
I was. 

T know — that is, I think — I believe I can recover it. In 
such cases custodiers have sometimes made a charge.’ 

‘We won’t differ as to that, sir,’ said the Colonel, taking 
out his pocket-book. 

‘But, my dear sir, you take me so very short. I said some • 
persons might make such a claim, I mean for payment of the 
expenses of the deed, trouble in the affair, etc. But I, for my 
own part, only wish Miss Bertram and her friends to be satis- 
fied that I am acting towards her with honour. There’s the 
paper, sir! It would have been a satisfaction to me to have 
delivered it into Miss Bertram’s own hands, and to have 
wished her joy of the prospects which it opens. But, since 
her prejudices on the subject are invincible, it only remains 
for me to transmit her my best wishes through you, Colonel 
Mannering, and to express that I shall willingly give my tes- 
timony in support of that deed when I shall be called upon. I 
have the honour to wish you a good morning, sir.’ 

This parting speech was so well got up, and had so much 
the tone of conscious integrity unjustly suspected, that even 
Colonel Mannering was staggered in his bad opinion. He 
followed him two or three steps, and took leave of him with 
more politeness (though still cold and formal) than he had 
paid during his visit. Glossin left the house half pleased with 

243 


GUY MANNERING 


the impression he had made, half mortified by the stern cau- 
tion and proud reluctance with which he had been received. 
'Colonel Mannering might have had more politeness,’ he said 
to himself. ‘It is not every man that can bring a good chance 
of £400 a-year to a penniless girl. Singleside must be up to 
£400 a-year now ; there’s Reilageganbeg, Gillifidget, Lover- 
less, Lie-alone, and the Spinster’s Knowe — good £400 a-year. 
Some people might have made their own of it in my place; 
and yet, to own the truth, after much consideration, I don’t 
see how that is possible.’ 

Glossin was no sooner mounted and gone than the Colonel 
despatched a groom for Mr. Mac-Morlan, and, putting the 
deed into his hand, requested to know if it was likely to be 
available to his friend Lucy Bertram. Mac-Morlan perused 
it with eyes that sparkled with delight, snapped his fingers 
repeatedly, and at length exclaimed, ‘Available ! it’s as tight as 
a glove ; naebody could make better wark than Glossin, when 
he didna let down a steek on purpose. But (his countenance 

falling) the auld b , that I should say so, might alter at 

pleasure !’ 

‘Ah ! And how shall we know whether she has done so ?’ 

‘Somebody must attend on Miss Bertram’s part when the 
repositories of the deceased are opened.’ 

‘Can you go ?’ said the Colonel. 

‘I fear I cannot,’ replied Mac-Morlan; ‘I must attend a 
jury trial before our court.’ 

‘Then I will go myself,’ said the Colonel; ‘I’ll set out to- 
morrow. Sampson shall go with me; he is witness to this 
settlement. But I shall want a legal adviser.’ 

‘The gentleman that was lately sheriff of this county is 
high in reputation as a barrister ; I will give you a card of in- 
troduction to him.’ 

‘What I like about you, Mr. Mac-Morlan,’ said the Colonel, 
‘is that you always come straight to the point. Let me have 
it instantly. Shall we tell Miss Lucy her chance of becom- 
ing an heiress ?’ 

‘Surely, because you must have some powers from her, 
which I will instantly draw out. Besides, I will be caution 
for her prudence, and that she will consider it only in the light 
of a chance.’ 


244 


GUY MANNERING 


Mac-Morlan judged well. It could not be discerned from 
Miss Bertram’s manner that she founded exulting hopes upon 
the prospect thus unexpectedly opening before her. She did, 
indeed, in the course of-the evening ask Mr. Mac-Morlan, as 
if by accident, what might be the annual income of the Hazle- 
wood property; but shall we therefore aver for certain that 
she was considering whether an heiress of four hundred 
a-year might be a suitable match for the young Laird? 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Give me a cup of sack, to make mine eyes look red. For I must speak 
in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses’ vein. 

Henry IV. Part I. 

M ANNERING, with Sampson for his companion, lost no 
time in his journey to Edinburgh. They travelled in 
the Colonel’s post-chariot, who, knowing his companion’s 
habits of abstraction, did not choose to lose him out of his 
own sight, far less to trust him on horseback, where, in all 
probability, a knavish stable-boy might with little address 
have contrived to mount him with his face to the tail. Ac- 
cordingly, with the aid of his valet, who attended on horse- 
back, he contrived to bring Mr. Sampson safe to an inn in 
Edinburgh — for hotels in those days there were none — with- 
out any other accident than arose from his straying twice 
upon the road. On one occasion he was recovered by Barnes, 
who understood his humour, when, after engaging in close 
colloquy with the schoolmaster of Moffat respecting a dis- 
puted quantity in Horace’s yth Ode, Book II., the dispute led 
on to another controversy concerning the exact meaning of 
the word malohathro in that lyric effusion. His second es- 
capade was made for the purpose of visiting the field of Bul- 
lion Green, which was dear to his Presbyterian predilections. 
Having got out of the carriage for an instant, he saw the 
sepulchral monument of the slain at the distance of about a 
mile, and was arrested by Barnes in his progress up the Pent- 
land Hills, having on both occasions forgot his friend, patron, 
and fellow-traveller as completely as if he had been in the 
East Indies. On being reminded that Colonel Mannering was 

245 


GUY MANNERING 


waiting for him, he uttered his usual ejaculation of Tro- 
digious ! I was oblivious,’ and then strode back to his post. 
Barnes was surprised at his master’s patience on both occa- 
sions, knowing by experience how little he brooked neglect or 
delay ; but the Dominie was in every respect a privileged per- 
son. His patron and he were never for a moment in each 
other’s way, and it seemed obvious that they were formed to 
be companions through life. If Mannering wanted a particu- 
lar book, the Dominie could bring it ; if he wished to have ac- 
counts summed up or checked, his assistance was equally 
ready; if he desired to recall a particular passage in the 
classics, he could have recourse to the Dominie as to a dic- 
tionary ; and all the while this walking statue was neither pre- 
suming when noticed nor sulky when left to himself. To a 
proud, shy, reserved man, and such in many respects was 
Mannering, this sort of living catalogue and animated autom- 
aton had all the advantages of a literary dumb-waiter. 

As soon as they arrived in Edinburgh, and were established 
at the George Inn, near Bristo Port, then kept by old Cock- 
burn (I love to be particular), the Colonel desired the waiter 
to procure him a guide to Mr. Pleydell’s, the advocate, for 
whom he had a letter of introduction from Mr. Mac-Morlan. 
He then commanded Barnes to have an eye to the Dominie, 
and walked forth with a chairman, who was to usher him to 
the man of law. 

The period was near the end of the American war. The 
desire of room, of air, and of decent accommodation had not 
as yet made very much progress in the capital of Scotland. 
Some efforts had been made on the south side of the town 
towards building houses within themselves, as they are em- 
phatically termed; and the New Town on the north, since so 
much extended, was then just commenced. But the great 
bulk of the better classes, and particularly those connected 
with the law, still lived in flats or dungeons of the Old Town. 
The manners also of some of the veterans of the law had not 
admitted innovation. One or two eminent lawyers still saw 
their clients in taverns, as was the general custom fifty years 
before; and although their habits were already considered as 
old-fashioned by the younger barristers, yet the custom of 
mixing wine and revelry with serious business was still main- 

246 


GUY HANKERING 


tained by those senior counsellors who loved the old road, 
either because it was such or because they had got too well 
used to it to travel any other. Among those praisers of the 
past time, who with ostentatious obstinacy affected the man- 
ners of a former generation, was this same Paulus Pleydell, 
Esq., otherwise a good scholar, an excellent lawyer, and a 
worthy man. 

Under the guidance of his trusty attendant. Colonel Man- 
nering, after threading a dark lane or two, reached the High 
Street, then clanging with voices of oyster-women and the 
bells of pye-men; for it had, as his guide assured him, just 
‘chappit eight upon the Tron.’ It was long since Mannering 
had been in the street of a crowded metropolis, which, with its 
noise and clamour, its sounds of trade, of revelry, and of 
license, its variety of lights, and the eternally changing bustle 
of its hundred groups, offers, by night especially, a spectacle 
which, though composed of the most vulgar materials when 
they are separately considered, has, when they are combined, 
a striking and powerful effect on the imagination. The ex- 
traordinary height of the houses was marked by lights, which, 
glimmering irregularly along their front, ascended so high 
among the attics that they seemed at length to twinkle in the 
middle sky. This coup d’oeil, which still subsists in a certain 
degree, was then more imposing, owing to the uninterrupted 
range of buildings on each side, which, broken only at the 
space where the North Bridge joins the main street, formed a 
superb and uniform place, extending from the front of the 
Luckenbooths to the head of the Canongate, and correspond- 
ing in breadth and length to the uncommon height of the 
buildings on either side. 

Mannering had not much time to look and to admire. His 
conductor hurried him across this striking scene, and suddenly 
dived with him into a very steep paved lane. Turning to the 
right, they entered a scale staircase, as it is called, the state of 
which, so far as it could be judged of by one of his senses, 
annoyed Mannering’s delicacy not a little. When they had 
ascended cautiously to a considerable height, they heard a 
heavy rap at a door, still two stories above them. The door 
opened, and immediately ensued the sharp and worrying bark 
of a dog, the squalling of a woman, the screams of an as- 

247 


GUY MANNERING 


saulted cat, and the hoarse voice of a man, who cried in a 
most imperative tone, ‘Will ye. Mustard? Will ye? down, 
sir, down!' 

‘Lord preserve us !' said the female voice, ‘an he had 
worried our cat, Mr. Pleydell would ne'er hae forgi’en 
me!' 

‘Aweel, my doo, the cat's no a prin the waur. So he's no in, 
ye say?' 

‘Na, Mr. Pley dell's ne'er in the house on Saturday at e'en,' 
answered the female voice. 

‘And the morn's Sabbath too,' said the querist. ‘I dinna 
ken what will be done.' 

By this time Mannering appeared, and found a tall, strong 
countryman, clad in a coat of pepper-and-salt-coloured mix- 
ture, with huge metal buttons, a glazed hat and boots, and a 
large horsewhip beneath his arm, in colloquy with a slipshod 
damsel, who had in one hand the lock of the door, and in the 
other a pail of whiting, or camstane, as it is called, mixed with 
water — a circumstance which indicates Saturday night in 
Edinburgh. 

‘So Mr. Pleydell is not at home, my good girl ?' said Man- 
nering. 

‘Ay, sir, he’s at hame, but he's no in the house ; he's aye out 
on Saturday at e'en.' 

‘But, my good girl, I am a stranger, and my business ex- 
press. Will you tell me where I can find him ?' 

‘His honour,' said the chairman, ‘will be at Clerihugh’s 
about this time. Hersell could hae tell’d ye that, but she 
thought ye wanted to see his house.’ 

‘Well, then, show me to this tavern. I suppose he will see 
me, as I come on business of some consequence ?' 

‘I dinna ken, sir,' said the girl ; ‘he disna like to be disturbed 
on Saturdays wi’ business ; but he’s aye civil to strangers.' 

‘I’ll gang to the tavern too,' said our friend Dinmont, ‘for 
I am a stranger also, and on business e'en sic like.' 

‘Na,' said the handmaiden, ‘an he see the gentleman, he'll 
see the simple body too; but. Lord's sake, dinna say it was 
me sent ye there !' 

‘Atweel, I am a simple body, that's true, hinny, but I am 
no come to steal ony o' his skeel for naething,' said the farmer 

248 


GUY MANNERING 


in his honest pride, and strutted away downstairs, followed by 
Mannering and the cadie. Mannering could not help admir- 
ing the determined stride with which the stranger who pre- 
ceded them divided the press, shouldering from him, by the 
mere weight and impetus of his motion, both drunk and sober 
passengers. ‘He’ll be a Teviotdale tup tat ane,’ said the 
chairman, ‘tat’s for keeping ta crown o’ ta causeway tat 
gate ; he’ll no gang far or he’ll get somebody to bell ta cat wi’ 
him.’ 

His shrewd augury, however, was not fulfilled. Those who 
recoiled from the colossal weight of Dmmont, on looking up 
at his size and strength, apparently judged him too heavy 
metal to be rashly encountered, and suffered him to pursue his 
course unchallenged. Following in the wake of this first- 
rate, Mannering proceeded till the farmer made a pause, and, 
looking back to the chairman, said, ‘I’m thinking this will be 
the close, friend.’ 

‘Ay, ay,’ replied Donald, ‘tat’s ta close.’ 

Dinmont descended confidently, then turned into a dark 
alley, then up a dark stair, and then into an open door. 
While he was whistling shrilly for the waiter, as if he had 
been one of his collie dogs, Mannering looked round him, and 
could hardly conceive how a gentleman of a liberal profession 
and good society should choose such a scene for social in- 
dulgence. Besides the miserable entrance, the house itself 
seemed paltry and half ruinous. The passage in which they 
stood had a window to the close, which admitted a little light 
during the daytime, and a villainous compound of smells at 
all times, but more especially towards evening. Correspond- 
ing to this window was a borrowed light on the other side of 
the passage, looking into the kitchen, which had no direct 
communication with the free air, but received in the daytime, 
at second hand, such straggling and obscure light as found its 
way from the lane through the window opposite. At present 
the interior of the kitchen was visible by its own huge fires — 
a sort of Pandemonium, where men and women, half un- 
dressed, were busied in baking, broiling, roasting oysters, and 
preparing devils on the gridiron ; the mistress of the place, 
with her shoes slipshod, and her hair straggling like that of 
Megaera from under a round-eared cap, toiling, scolding, re- 

249 


GUY MANNERING 


ceiving orders, giving them, and obeying them all at once, 
seemed the presiding enchantress of that gloomy and fiery 
region. 

Loud and repeated bursts of laughter from different quar- 
ters of the house proved that her labours were acceptable, and 
not unrewarded by a generous public. With some difficulty 
a waiter was prevailed upon to show Colonel Mannering and 
Dinmont the room where their friend learned in the law held 
his hebdomadal carousals. The scene which it exhibited, 
and particularly the attitude of the counsellor himself, the 
principal figure therein, struck his two clients with amaze- 
ment. 

Mr. Pleydell was a lively, sharp-looking gentleman, with a 
professional shrewdness in his eye, and, generally speaking, a 
professional formality in his manners. But this, like his 
three-tailed wig and black coat, he could slip off on a Satur- 
day evening, when surrounded by a party of jolly companions, 
and disposed for what he called his altitudes. On the present 
occasion the revel had lasted since four o’clock, and at length, 
under the direction of a venerable compotator, who had 
shared the sports and festivity of three generations, the frolic- 
some company had begun to practise the ancient and now for- 
gotten pastime of high jinks} This game was played in 
several different ways. Most frequently the dice were thrown 
by the company, and those upon whom the lot fell were 
obliged to assume and maintain for a time a certain fictitious 
character, or to repeat a certain number of fescennine verses 
in a particular order. If they departed from the characters 
assigned, or if their memory proved treacherous in the repe- 
tition, they incurred forfeits, which were either compounded 
for by swallowing an additional bumper or by paying a small 
sum towards the reckoning. At this sport the jovial 
company were closely engaged when Mannering entered the 
room. 

Mr. Counsellor Pleydell, such as we have described him, 
was enthroned as a monarch in an elbow-chair placed on the 
dining-table, his scratch wig on one side, his head crowned 
with a bottle-slider, his eye leering with an expression be- 


See High Jinks. Note 7.. 


250 











GUY MANNERING 


twixt fun and the effects of wine, while his court around him 
resounded with such crambo scraps of verse as these; 

Where is Gerunto now? and what’s become of him? 

Gerunto’s drowned because he could not swim, etc. etc. 

Such, O Themis, were anciently the sports of thy Scottish 
children ! Dinmont was first in the room. He stood aghast 
a moment, and then exclaimed, ‘It’s him, sure enough. Deil 
o’ the like o’ that ever I saw !’ 

At the sound of ‘Mr. Dinmont and Colonel Mannering 
wanting to speak to you, sir,’ Pleydell turned his head, and 
blushed a little when he saw the very genteel figure of the 
English stranger. He was, however, of the opinion of Fal- 
staff, ‘Out, ye villains, play out the play!’ wisely judging it 
the better way to appear totally unconcerned. ‘Where be 
our guards?’ exclaimed this second Justinian; ‘see ye not a 
stranger knight from foreign parts arrived at this our court 
of Holyrood, with our bold yeoman Andrew Dinmont, who 
has succeeded to the keeping of our royal flocks within the 
forest of Jedwood, where, thanks to our royal care in the 
administration of justice, they feed as safe as if they were 
within the bounds of Fife? Where be our heralds, our pur- 
suivants, our Lyon, our Marchmount, our Garrick, and our 
Snowdown? Let the strangers be placed at our board, and 
regaled as beseemeth their quality and this our high holiday ; 
to-morrow we will hear their tidings.’ 

‘So please you, my liege, to-morrow’s Sunday,’ said one 
of the company. 

‘Sunday, is it ? then we will give no offence to the assembly 
of the kirk ; on Monday shall be their audience.’ 

Mannering, who had stood at first uncertain whether to ad- 
vance or retreat, now resolved to enter for the moment into 
the whim of the scene, though internally fretting at Mac- 
Morlan for sending him to consult with a crack-brained hu- 
mourist. He therefore advanced with three profound con- 
gees, and craved permission to lay his credentials at the feet 
of the Scottish monarch, in order to be perused at his best 
leisure. The gravity with which he accommodated himself 
to the humour of the moment, and the deep and humble in- 
clination with which he at first declined, and then accepted, 

251 


GUY MANNERING 


a seat presented by the master of the ceremonies, procured 
him three rounds of applause. 

‘Deil hae me, if they arena a’ mad thegither !’ said Dinmont 
occupying with less ceremony a seat at the bottom of the 
table; ‘or else they hae taen Yule before it comes, and are 
gaun a-guisarding.' 

A large glass of claret was offered to Mannering, who 
drank it to the health of the reigning prince. ‘You are, I 
presume to guess,' said the monarch, ‘that celebrated Sir Miles 
Mannering, so renowned in the French wars, and may well 
pronounce to us if the wines of Gascony lose their flavour in 
our more northern realm.' 

Mannering, agreeably flattered by this allusion to the fame 
of his celebrated ancestor, replied by professing himself only 
a distant relation of the preux chevalier, and added, ‘that in 
his opinion the wine was superlatively good.’ 

‘It's ower cauld for my stamach,' said Dinmont, setting 
down the glass — empty however. 

‘We will correct that quality,' answered King Paulus, the 
first of the name; ‘we have not forgotten that the moist and 
humid air of our valley of Liddel inclines to stronger pota- 
tions. Seneschal, let our faithful yeoman have a cup of 
brandy; it will be more germain to the matter.' 

‘And now,' said Mannering, ‘since we have unwarily in- 
truded upon your majesty at a moment of mirthful retire- 
ment, be pleased to say when you will indulge a stranger with 
an audience on those affairs of weight which have brought 
him to your northern capital.' 

The monarch opened Mac-Morlan's letter, and, running it 
hastily over, exclaimed with his natural voice and manner, 
‘Lucy Bertram of Ellangowan, poor dear lassie !' 

‘A forfeit ! a forfeit !' exclaimed a dozen voices ; ‘his ma- 
jesty has forgot his kingly character.' 

‘Not a whit! not a whit!' replied the king; ‘I'll be judged 
by this courteous knight. May not a monarch love a maid of 
low degree? Is not King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid an 
adjudged case in point?' 

‘Professional ! professional ! another forfeit,’ exclaimed the 
tumultuary nobility. 

‘Had not our royal predecessors,’ continued the monarch, 
252 


GUY MANNERING 


exalting his sovereign voice to drown these disaffected 
clamours, — ‘had they not their Jean Logies, their Bessie Car- 
michaels, their Oliphants, their Sandilands, and their Weirs, 
and shall it be denied to us even to name a maiden whom we 
delight to honour? Nay, then, sink state and perish sov- 
ereignty ! for, like a second Charles V., we will abdicate, and 
seek in the private shades of life those pleasures which are 
denied to a throne/ 

So saying, he flung away his crown, and sprung from his 
exalted station with more agility than could have been ex- 
pected from his age, ordered lights and a wash-hand basin 
and towel, with a cup of green tea, into another room, and 
made a sign to Mannering to accompany him. In less than 
two minutes he washed his face and hands, settled his wig 
in the glass, and, to Mannering’s great surprise, looked quite 
a different man from the childish Bacchanal he had seen a 
moment before. 

‘There are folks,’ he said, ‘Mr. Mannering, before whom 
one should take care how they play the fool, because they 
have either too much malice or too little wit, as the poet says. 
The best compliment I can pay Colonel Mannering is to show 
I am not ashamed to expose myself before him ; and truly I 
think it is a compliment I have not spared to-night on your 
good-nature. But what’s that great strong fellow wanting?’ 

Dinmont, who had pushed after Mannering into the room, 
began with a scrape with his foot and a scratch of his head 
in unison. ‘I am Dandie Dinmont, sir, of the Charlie’s Hope 
— the Liddesdale lad ; ye’ll mind me ? It was for me ye won 
yon grand plea.’ 

‘What plea, you loggerhead?’ said the lawyer. ‘D’ye think 
I can remember all the fools that come to plague me?’ 

‘Lord, sir, it was the grand plea about the grazing o’ the 
Langtae Head!’ said the farmer. 

‘Well, curse thee, never mind ; give me the memorial and 
come to me on Monday at ten,’ replied the learned counsel. 

‘But, sir, I haena got ony distinct memorial.’ 

‘No memorial, man?’ said Pleydell. 

‘Na, sir, nae memorial,’ answered Dandie ; ‘for your honour 
said before, Mr. Pleydell, ye’ll mind, that ye liked best to 
hear us hill-folk tell our ain tale by word o’ mouth.’ 

253 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Beshrew my tongue, that said so!’ answered the counsel- 
lor; ht will cost my ears a dinning. Well, say in two words 
what you’ve got to say. You see the gentleman waits.’ 

'Ou, sir, if the gentleman likes he may play his ain spring 
first; it’s a’ ane to Dandie.’ 

‘Now, you looby,’ said the lawyer, ‘cannot you conceive 
that your business can be nothing to Colonel Mannering, but 
that he may not choose to have these great ears of thine re- 
galed with his matters?’ 

‘Aweel, sir, just as you and he like, so ye see to my busi- 
ness,’ said Dandie, not a whit disconcerted by the roughness 
of this reception. ‘We’re at the auld wark o’ the marches 
again, Jock o’ Dawston Cleugh and me. Ye see we march 
on the tap o’ Touthope Rigg after we pass the Pomoragrains ; 
for the Pomoragrains, and Slackenspool, and Bloodylaws, 
they come in there, and they belang to the Peel ; but after ye 
pass Pomoragrains at a muckle great saucer-headed cutlugged 
stane that they ca’ Charlie’s Chuckie, there Dawston Cleugh 
and Charlie’s Hope they march. Now, I say the march rins 
on the tap o’ the hill where the wind and water shears; but 
Jock o’ Dawston Cleugh again, he contravenes that, and says 
that it bauds down by the auld drove-road that gaes awa by 
the Knot o’ the Gate ower to Keeldar Ward ; and that makes 
an unco difference.’ 

‘And what difference does it make, friend?’ said Pleydell. 
‘How many sheep will it feed?’ 

‘Ou, no mony,’ said Dandie, scratching his head ; ‘it’s lying 
high and exposed : it may feed a hog, or aiblins twa in a good 
year.’ 

‘And for this grazing, which may be worth about five 
shillings a-year, you are willing to throw away a hundred 
pounds or two?’ 

‘Na, sir, it’s no for the value of the grass,’ replied Dinmont ; 
‘it’s for justice.’ 

‘My good friend,’ said Pleydell, ‘justice, like charity, should 
begin at home. Do you justice to your wife and family, and 
think no more about the matter.’ 

Dinmont still lingered, twisting his hat in his hand. ‘It’s 
no for that, sir ; but I would like ill to be bragged wi’ him ; 
he threeps he’ll bring a score o’ witnesses and mair, and I’m 

254 


GUY MANNERING 


sure there’s as mony will swear for me as for him, folk that 
lived a their days upon the Charlie’s Hope, and wadna like to 
see the land lose its right.’ 

Zounds, man, if it be a point of honour,’ said the lawyer, 
'why don’t your landlords take it up ?’ 

'I dinna ken, sir (scratching his head again) ; there’s been 
nae election-dusts lately, and the lairds are unco neighbourly, 
and Jock and me canna get them to yoke thegither about it a’ 
that we can say ; but if ye thought we might keep up the 
rent ’ 

'No ! no ! that will never do,’ said Pleydell. 'Confound you, 
why don’t you take good cudgels and settle it?’ 

'Odd, sir,’ answered the farmer, ‘we tried that three times 
already, that’s twice on the land and ance at Lockerby Fair. 
But I dinna ken ; we’re baith gey good at single-stick, and it 
couldna weel be judged.’ 

‘Then take broadswords, and be d — d to you, as your 
fathers did before you,’ said the counsel learned in the law. 

'A weel, sir, if ye think it wadna be again the law, it’s a’ ane 
to Dandie.’ 

‘Hold ! hold !’ exclaimed Pleydell, 'we shall have another 
Lord Soulis’ mistake.^ Pr’ythee, man, comprehend me; I 
wish you to consider how very trifling and foolish a lawsuit 
you wish to engage in.’ 

'Ay, sir?’ said Dandie, in a disappointed tone. 'So ye 
winna take on wi’ me. Pm doubting?’ 

'Me ! not I. Go home, go home, take a pint and agree.’ 
Dandie looked but half contented, and still remained station- 
ary. ‘Anything more, my friend?’ 

'Only, sir, about the succession of this leddy that’s dead, 
auld Miss Margaret Bertram o’ Singleside.’ 

'Ay, what about her ?’ said the counsellor, rather surprised. 

'Ou, we have nae connexion at a’ wi’ the Bertrams,’ said 
Dandie; 'they were grand folk by the like o’ us; but Jean 
Liltup, that was auld Singleside’s housekeeper, and the 
mother of these twa young ladies that are gane — the last o’ 
them’s dead at a ripe age, I trow — Jean Liltup came out o’ 
Liddel water, and she was as near our connexion as second 


* See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. iv. p. 241 (Laing). 

255 


GUY MANNERING 


cousin to my mother’s half-sister. She drew up wi’ Single- 
side, nae doubt, when she was his housekeeper, and it was a 
sair vex and grief to a’ her kith and kin. But he acknowl- 
edged a marriage, and satisfied the kirk ; and now I wad ken 
frae you if we hae not some claim by law ?’ 

'Not the shadow of a claim.’ 

‘Aweel, we’re nae puirer,’ said Dandie; 'but she may hae 
thought on us if she was minded to make a testament. Weel, 

sir. I’ve said my say ; I’se e’en wish you good-night, and ’ 

putting his hand in his pocket. 

'No, no, my friend; I never take fees on Saturday nights, 
or without a memorial. Away with you, Dandie.’ And 
Dandie made his reverence and departed accordingly. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


But this poor farce has neither truth nor art 
To please the fancy or to touch the heart. 

Dark but not awful, dismal but yet mean, 

With anxious bustle moves the cumbrous scene. 
Presents no objects tender or profound. 

But spreads its cold unmeaning gloom around. 


Parish Register. 



OUR majesty,’ said Mannering, laughing, 'has solem- 


X nised your abdication by an act of mercy and charity. 
That fellow will scarce think of going to law.’ 

‘O, you are quite wrong,’ said the experienced lawyer. 
‘The only difference is, I have lost my client and my fee. 
He’ll never rest till he finds somebody to encourage him to 
commit the folly he has predetermined. No ! no ! I have only 
shown you another weakness of my character : I always speak 
truth of a Saturday night.’ 

'And sometimes through the week, I should think,’ said 
Mannering, continuing the same tone. 

'Why, yes; as far as my vocation will permit. I am, as 
Hamlet says, indifferent honest, when my clients and their 
solicitors do not make me the medium of conveying their 
double-distilled lies to the bench. But oportet vivere! it is a 
sad thing. And now to our business. I am glad my old 


256 


GUY MANNERING 


friend Mac-Morlan has sent you to me ; he is an active, hon- 
est, and intelligent man, long sheriff-substitute of the county 

of under me, and still holds the office. He knows I have 

I a regard for that unfortunate family of Ellangowan, and for 
poor Lucy. I have not seen her since she was twelve years 
i old, and she was then a sweet pretty girl, under the manage- 
ment of a very silly father. But my interest in her is of an 
' early date. I was called upon, Mr. Mannering, being then 
sheriff of that county, to investigate the particulars of a mur- 
der which had been Committed near Ellangowan the day on 
which this poor child was born; and which, by a strange 
combination that I was unhappily not able to trace, involved 
' the death or abstraction of her only brother, a boy of about 
five years old. No, Colonel, I shall never forget the misery 
of the house of Ellangowan that morning! the father half- 
distracted — the mother dead in premature travail — the help- 
less infant, with scarce any one to attend it, coming wawling 
and crying into this miserable world at such a moment of 
j unutterable misery. We lawyers are not of iron, sir, or of 
brass, any more than you soldiers are of steel. We are con- 
versant with the crimes and distresses of civil society, as you 
are with those that occur in a state of war, and to do our 
duty in either case a little apathy is perhaps necessary. But 
i the devil take a soldier whose heart can be as hard as his 
sword, and his dam catch the lawyer who bronzes his bosom 
' instead of his forehead 1 But come, I am losing my Saturday 
at e’en. Will you have the kindness to trust me with these 
papers which relate to Miss Bertram’s business? and stay — 
to-morrow you’ll take a bachelor’s dinner with an old lawyer, 
— I insist upon it — at three precisely, and come an hour 
sooner. The old lady is to be buried on Monday ; it is the 
orphan’s cause, and we’ll borrow an hour from the Sunday 
to talk over this business, although I fear nothing can be 
done if she has altered her settlement, unless perhaps it occurs 
within the sixty days, and then, if Miss Bertram can show 

that she possesses the character of heir-at-law, why But, 

hark I my lieges are impatient of their interregnum. I do not 
invite you to rejoin us. Colonel ; it would be a trespass on your 
complaisance, unless you had begun the day with us, and 
gradually glided on from wisdom to mirth, and from mirth 


GUY MANNERING 


to — to — to — extravagance. Good-night. Harry, go home 
with Mr. Mannering to his lodging. Colonel, I expect you 
at a little past two to-morrow.’ 

The Colonel returned to his inn, equally surprised at the 
childish frolics in which he had found his learned counsellor 
engaged, at the candour and sound sense which he had in a 
moment summoned up to meet the exigencies of his profes- 
sion, and at the tone of feeling which he displayed when he 
spoke of the friendless orphan. 

In the morning, while the Colonel and his most quiet and 
silent of all retainers. Dominie Sampson, were finishing the 
breakfast which Barnes had made and poured out, after the 
Dominie had scalded himself in the attempt, Mr. Pleydell was 
suddenly ushered in. A nicely dressed bob-wig, upon every 
hair of which a zealous and careful barber had bestowed its 
proper allowance of powder ; a well-brushed black suit, with 
very clean shoes and gold buckles and stock-buckle ; a manner 
rather reserved and formal than intrusive, but withal showing 
only the formality of manner, by no means that of awkward- 
ness ; a countenance, the expressive and somewhat comic feat- 
ures of which were in complete repose — all showed a being 
perfectly different from the choice spirit of the evening be- 
fore. A glance of shrewd and piercing fire in his eye was 
the only marked expression which recalled the man of ‘Satur- 
day at e’en.’ 

‘I am come,’ said he, with a very polite address, ‘to use my 
regal authority in your behalf in spirituals as well as tem- 
porals; can I accompany you to the Presbyterian kirk, or 
Episcopal meeting-house? Tros Tyrhisve, a lawyer, you 
know, is of both religions, or rather I should say of both 
forms; — or can I assist in passing the forenoon otherwise? 
You’ll excuse my old-fashioned importunity, I was born in a 
time when a Scotchman was thought inhospitable if he left a 
guest alone a moment, except when he slept ; but I trust you 
will tell me at once if I intrude.’ 

‘Not at all, my dear sir,’ answered Colonel Mannering. ‘I 
am delighted to put myself under your pilotage. I should 
wish much to hear some of your Scottish preachers whose 
talents have done such honour to your country — your Blair, 
your Robertson, or your Henry; and I embrace your kind 

258 


GUY MANNERING 


offer with all my heart. Only/ drawing the lawyer a little 
aside, and turning his eye towards Sampson, ‘my worthy 
friend there in the reverie is a little helpless and abstracted, 
and my servant, Barnes, who is his pilot in ordinary, cannot 
well assist him here, especially as he has expressed his deter- 
mination of going to some of your darker and more remote 
places of worship.’ 

j The lawyer’s eye glanced at Dominie Sampson. ‘A curi- 
I osity worth preserving; and I’ll find you a fit custodier. Here 
! you, sir (to the waiter), go to Luckie Finlayson’s in the Cow- 
gate for Miles Macfin the cadie, he’ll be there about this time, 
and tell him I wish to speak to him.’ 

The person wanted soon arrived. T will commit your 
friend to this man’s charge,’ said Pleydell ; ‘he’ll attend him, 
or conduct him, wherever he chooses to go, with a happy 
indifference as to kirk or market, meeting or court of justice, 
or any other place whatever; and bring him safe home at 
whatever hour you appoint ; so that Mr. Barnes there may be 
left to the freedom of his own will.’ 

This was easily arranged and the Colonel committed the 
Dominie to the charge of this man while they should remain 
in Edinburgh. 

‘And now, sir, if you please, we shall go to the Greyfriars 
church, to hear our historian of Scotland, of the Continent, 
and of America.’ 

They were disappointed: he did not preach that morning. 
‘Never mind,’ said the Counsellor, ‘have a moment’s patience 
and we shall do very well.’ 

The colleague of Dr. Robertson ascended the pulpit.^ His 
' external appearance was not prepossessing. A remarkably 
fair complexion, strangely contrasted with a black wig with- 
out a grain of powder; a narrow chest and a stooping pos- 
ture; hands which, placed like props on either side of the 
pulpit, seemed necessary rather to support the person than to 
assist the gesticulation of the preacher; no gown, not even 
that of Geneva, a tumbled band, and a gesture which seemed 
scarce voluntary, were the first circumstances which struck a 


‘This was the celebrated Dr. Erskine, a distinguished clergyman, 
and a most excellent man. 

259 


GUY MANNERING 


stranger. ‘The preacher seems a very ungainly person/ whis- 
pered Mannering to his new friend. 

‘Never fear, he’s the son of an excellent Scottish lawyer/ 
he’ll show blood, I’ll warrant him.’ 

The learned Counsellor predicted truly. A lecture was 
delivered, fraught with new, striking, and entertaining views 
of Scripture history, a sermon in which the Calvinism of the 
Kirk of Scotland was ably supported, yet made the basis of a 
sound system of practical morals, which should neither shel- 
ter the sinner under the cloak of speculative faith or of pecu- 
liarity of opinion, nor leave him loose to the waves of unbelief 
and schism. Something there was of an antiquated turn of 
argument and metaphor, but it only served to give zest and 
peculiarity to the style of elocution. The sermon was not 
read: a scrap of paper containing the heads of the discourse 
was occasionally referred to, and the enunciation, which at 
first seemed imperfect and embarrassed, became, as the 
preacher warmed in his progress, animated and distinct ; and 
athough the discourse could not be quoted as a correct speci- 
men of pulpit eloquence, yet Mannering had seldom heard 
so much learning, metaphysical acuteness, and energy of ar- 
gument brought into the service of Christianity. 

‘Such,’ he said, going out of the church, ‘must have been 
the preachers to whose unfearing minds, and acute though 
sometimes rudely exercised talents, we owe the Reformation.’ 

‘And yet that reverend gentleman,’ said Pleydell, ‘whom I 
love for his father’s sake and his own, has nothing of the 
sour or pharisaical pride which has been imputed to some of 
the early fathers of the Calvinistic Kirk of Scotland. His 
colleague and he differ, and head different parties in the kirk, 
about particular points of church discipline ; but without for 
a moment losing personal regard or respect for each other, 
or suffering malignity to interfere in an opposition steady, 
constant, and apparently conscientious on both sides.’ 

‘And you, Mr. Pleydell, what do you think of their points 
of difference?’ 


^ The father of Dr. Erskine was an eminent lawyer, and his Insti- 
tutes of the Law of Scotland are to this day the text-book of students 
•of that science. 


260 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Why, I hope, Colonel, a plain man may go to heaven with- 
out thinking about them at all; besides, inter nos, I am a 
member of the suffering and Episcopal Church of Scotland — 
the shadow of a shade now, and fortunately so ; but I love to 
pray where my fathers prayed before me, without thinking 
worse of the Presbyterian forms because they do not affect 
me with the same associations/ And with this remark they 
parted until dinner-time. 

From the awkward access to the lawyer’s mansion, Man- 
nering was induced to form very moderate expectations of 
the entertainment which he was to receive. The approach 
looked even more dismal by daylight than on the preceding 
evening. The houses on each side of the lane were so close 
that the neighbours might have shaken hands with each other 
from the different sides, and occasionally the space between 
was traversed by wooden galleries, and thus entirely closed 
up. The stair, the scale-stair, was not well cleaned ; and on 
entering the house Mannering was struck with the narrow- 
ness and meanness of the wainscotted passage. But the 
library, into which he was shown by an elderly, respectable- 
looking man-servant, was a complete contrast to these un- 
promising appearances. It was a well-proportioned room, 
hung with a portrait or two of Scottish characters of emi- 
nence, by Jamieson, the Caledonian Vandyke, and surround- 
ed with books, the best editions of the best authors, and in 
particular an admirable collection of classics. 

‘These,’ said Pleydell, ‘are my tools of trade. A lawyer 
without history or literature is a mechanic, a mere working 
mason; if he possesses some knowledge of these, he may 
venture to call himself an architect.’ 

But Mannering was chiefly delighted with the view from 
the windows, which commanded that incomparable prospect 
of the ground between Edinburgh and the sea — the Firth of 
Forth, with its islands, the embayment which is terminated by 
the Law of North Berwick, and the varied shores of Fife to 
the northward, indenting with a hilly outline the clear blue 
horizon. 

When Mr. Pleydell had sufficiently enjoyed the surprise of 
his guest, he called his attention to Miss Bertram’s affairs. ‘I 
was in hopes,’ he said, ‘though but faint, to have discovered 

261 


GUY MANNERING 


some means of ascertaining her indefeasible right to this 
property of Singleside; but my researches have been in vain. 
The old lady was certainly absolute fiar, and might dispose 
of it in full right of property. All that we have to hope is, 
that the devil may not have tempted her to alter this very 
proper settlement. You must attend the old girl’s funeral 
to-morrow, to which you will receive an invitation, for I have 
acquainted her agent with your being here on Miss Bertram’s 
part ; and I will meet you afterwards at the house she inhab- 
ited, and be present to see fair play at the opening of the set- 
tlement. The old cat had a little girl, the orphan of some 
relation, who lived with her as a kind of slavish companion. 
I hope she has had the conscience to make her independent, 
in consideration of the peine forte et dure to which she sub- 
jected her during her lifetime.’ 

Three gentlemen now appeared, and were introduced to 
the stranger. They were men of good sense, gaiety, and gen- 
eral information, so that the day passed very pleasantly over ; 
and Colonel Mannering assisted, about eight o’clock at night, 
in discussing the landlord’s bottle, which was, of course, a 
magnum. Upon his return to the inn he found a card invit- 
ing him to the funeral of Miss Margaret Bertram, late of 
Singleside, which was to proceed from her own house to the 
place of interment in the Greyfriars churchyard at one o’clock 
afternoon. 

At the appointed hour Mannering went to a small house in 
the suburbs to the southward of the city, where he found the 
place of mourning indicated, as usual in Scotland, by two rue- 
ful figures with long black cloaks, white crapes and hat- 
bands, holding in their hands poles, adorned with melancholy 
streamers of the same description. By two other mutes, 
who, from their visages, seemed suifering under the pressure 
of some strange calamity, he was ushered into the dining- 
parlour of the defunct, where the company were assembled 
for the funeral. 

In Scotland the custom, now disused in England, of in- 
viting the relations of the deceased to the interment is uni- 
versally retained. On many occasions this has a singular 
and striking effect, but it degenerates into mere empty form 
and grimace in cases where the defunct has had the misfor- 

262 


GUY MANNERING 


tune to live unbeloved and die unlamented. The English ser- 
vice for the dead, one of the most beautiful and impressive 
parts of the ritual of the church, would have in such cases the 
effect of fixing the attention, and uniting the thoughts and 
feelings of the audience present in an exercise of devotion so 
peculiarly adapted to such an occasion. But according to the 
Scottish custom, if there be not real feeling among the as- 
sistants, there is nothing to supply the deficiency, and exalt 
or rouse the attention; so that a sense of tedious form, and 
almost hypocritical restraint, is too apt to pervade the com- 
pany assembled for the mournful solemnity. Mrs. Margaret 
Bertram was unluckily one of those whose good qualities 
had attached no general friendship. She had no near rela- 
I tions who might have mourned from natural affection, and 
I therefore her funeral exhibited merely the exterior trappings 
I of sorrow. 

I Mannering, therefore, stood among this lugubrious com- 
pany of cousins in the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth degree, 
composing his countenance to the decent solemnity of all who 
were around him, and looking as much concerned on Mrs. 
Margaret Bertram’s account as if the deceased lady of Sin- 
gleside had been his own sister or mother. After a deep and 
awful pause, the company began to talk aside, under their 
breaths, however, and as if in the chamber of a dying 
person. 

'Our poor friend,’ said one grave gentleman, scarcely open- 
ing his mouth, for fear of deranging the necessary solemnity 
of his features, and sliding his whisper from between his lips, 
which were as little unclosed as possible — ‘our poor friend 
has died well to pass in the world.’ 

‘Nae doubt,’ answered the person addressed, with half- 
closed eyes ; ‘poor Mrs. Margaret was aye careful of the gear.’ 

‘Any news to-day. Colonel Mannering?’ said one of the 
gentlemen whom he had dined with the day before, but in a 
tone which might, for its impressive gravity, have communi- 
cated the death of his whole generation. 

‘Nothing particular, I believe, sir,’ said Mannering, in the 
cadence which was, he observed, appropriated to the house of 
mourning. 

‘I understand,’ continued the first speaker, emphatically, 
263 


GUY MANNERING 


and with the air of one who is well informed — ‘I understand 
there is a settlement.’ 

‘And what does little Jenny Gibson get?’ 

‘A hundred, and the auld repeater.’ 

‘That’s but sma’ gear, puir thing; she had a sair time o’t 
with the auld leddy. But it’s ill waiting for dead folks’ 
shoon.’ 

‘I am afraid,’ said the politician, who was close by Manner- 
ing, ‘we have not done with your old friend Tippoo Sahib yet, 
I doubt he’ll give the Company more plague ; and I am told, 
but you’ll know for certain, that East India Stock is not 
rising.’ 

‘I trust it will, sir, soon.’ 

‘Mrs. Margaret,’ said another person, mingling in the con- 
versation, ‘had some India bonds. I know that, for I drew 
the interest for her; it would be desirable now for the trus- 
tees and legatees to have the Colonel’s advice about the time 
and mode of converting them into money. For my part I 
think — but there’s Mr. Mortcloke to tell us they are gaun to 
lift.’ 

Mr. Mortcloke the undertaker did accordingly, with a 
visage of professional length and most grievous solemnity, 
distribute among the pall-bearers little cards, assigning their 
respective situations in attendance upon the coffin. As this 
precedence is supposed to be regulated by propinquity to the 
defunct, the undertaker, however skilful a master of these 
lugubrious ceremonies, did not escape giving some offence. 
To be related to Mrs. Bertram was to be of kin to the lands 
of Singleside, and was a propinquity of which each relative 
present at that moment was particularly jealous. Some mur- 
murs there were on the occasion, and our friend Dinmont 
gave more open offence, being unable either to repress his 
discontent or to utter it in the key properly modulated to the 
solemnity. ‘I think ye might hae at least gi’en me a leg o’ 
her to carry,’ he exclaimed, in a voice considerably louder 
than propriety admitted. ‘God ! an it hadna been for the rigs 
o’ land, I would hae gotten her a’ to carry mysell, for as mony 
gentles as are here.’ 

A score of frowning and reproving brows were bent upon 
the unappalled yeoman, who, having given vent to his dis- 

264 


GUY MANNERING 

pleasure, stalked sturdily downstairs with the rest of the 
company, totally disregarding the censures of those whom his 
remarks had scandalised. 

And then the funeral pomp set forth; saulies with their 
batons and gumphions of tarnished white crape, in honour of 
the well-preserved maiden fame of Mrs. Margaret Bertram. 
Six starved horses, themselves the very emblems of mortal- 
ity, well cloaked and plumed, lugging along the hearse with 
its dismal emblazonry, crept in slow state towards the place 
of interment, preceded by Jamie Duff, an idiot, who, with 
weepers and cravat made of white paper, attended on every 
funeral, and followed by six mourning coaches, filled with 
the company. Many of these now gave more free loose to 
their tongues, and discussed with unrestrained earnestness 
the amount of the succession, and the probability of its des- 
tination. The principal expectants, however, kept a prudent 
silence, indeed ashamed to express hopes which might prove 
fallacious ; and the agent or man of business, who alone knew 
exactly how matters stood, maintained a countenance of mys- 
terious importance, as if determined to preserve the full in- 
terest of anxiety and suspense. 

At length they arrived at the churchyard gates, and from 
thence, amid the gaping of two or three dozen of idle women 
with infants in their arms, and accompanied by some twenty 
children, who ran gambolling and screaming alongside of the 
sable procession, they finally arrived at the burial-place of 
the Singleside family. This was a square inclosure in the 
Greyfriars churchyard, guarded on one side by a veteran 
angel without a nose, and having only one wing, who had 
the merit of having maintained his post for a century, while 
his comrade cherub, who had stood sentinel on the corre- 
sponding pedestal, lay a broken trunk among the hemlock, 
burdock, and nettles which grew in gigantic luxuriance 
around the walls of the mausoleum. A moss-grown and 
broken inscription informed the reader that in the year 1650 
Captain Andrew Bertram, first of Singleside, descended of 
the very ancient and honourable house of Ellangowan, had 
caused this monument to be erected for himself and his de- 
scendants. A reasonable number of scythes and hour-glasses, 
and death’s heads and cross-bones, garnished the following 

265 


GUY MANNERING 


sprig of sepulchral poetry, to the memory of the founder of 
the mausoleum: — 

Nathaniel’s heart, Bezaleel’s hand. 

If ever any ha^ 

These boldly do I say had he. 

Who lieth in this bed. 

Here, then, amid the deep black fat loam into which her 
ancestors were now resolved, they deposited the body of Mrs. 
Margaret Bertram; and, like soldiers returning from a mili- 
tary funeral, the nearest relations who might be interested in 
the settlements of the lady urged the dog-cattle of the hack- 
ney coaches to all the speed of which they were capable, in 
order to put an end to farther suspense on that interesting 
topic. 


CHAPTER XXXVHI. 


Die and endow a college or a cat. — P ope. 

HERE is a fable told by Lucian, that while a troop of 



1 monkeys, well drilled by an intelligent manager, were 
performing a tragedy with great applause, the decorum of 
the whole scene was at once destroyed, and the natural pas- 
sions of the actors called forth into very indecent and active 
emulation, by a wag who threw a handful of nuts upon the 
stage. In like manner, the approaching crisis stirred up 
among the expectants feelings of a nature very different from 
those of which, under the superintendence of Mr. Mortcloke, 
they had but now been endeavouring to imitate the expres- 
sion. Those eyes which were lately devoutly cast up to 
heaven, or with greater humility bent solemnly upon earth, 
were now sharply and alertly darting their glances through 
shuttles, and trunks, and drawers, and cabinets, and all the 
odd corners of an old maiden lady’s repositories. Nor was 
their search without interest, though they did not find the will 
of which they were in quest. 

Here was a promissory note for £20 by the minister of the 
nonjuring chapel, interest marked as paid to Martinmas last, 
carefully folded up in a new set of words to the old tune of 
‘Over the Water to Charlie’ ; there was a curious love corre- 


266 


GUY MANNERING 


spondence between the deceased and a certain Lieutenant 
O’Kean of a marching regiment of foot ; and tied up with the 
letters was a document which at once explained to the rela- 
tives why a connexion that boded them little good had been 
suddenly broken off, being the Lieutenant’s bond for two 
hundred pounds, upon which no interest whatever appeared 
to have been paid. Other bills and bonds to a larger amount, 
and signed by better names (I mean commercially) than 
those of the worthy divine and gallant soldier, also occurred 
in the course of their researches, besides a hoard of coins of 
every size and denomination, and scraps of broken gold and 
silver, old earrings, hinges of cracked snuff-boxes, mount- 
ings of spectacles, etc. etc. etc. Still no will made its ap- 
pearance, and Colonel Mannering" began full well to hope 
that the settlement which he had obtained from Glossin con- 
tained the ultimate arrangement of the old lady’s affairs. 
But his friend Pleydell, who now came into the room, cau- 
tioned him against entertaining this belief. 

‘I am well acquainted with the gentleman,’ he said, ‘who is 
conducting the search, and I guess from his manner that he 
knows something more of the matter than any of us.’ 

Meantime, while the search proceeds, let us take a brief 
glance at one or two of the company who seem most inter- 
ested. 

Of Dinmont, who, with his large hunting-whip under his 
arms, stood poking his great round face over the shoulder of 
the homme d'affaires, it is unnecessary to say anything. That 
thin-looking oldish person, in a most correct and gentleman- 
like suit of mourning, is Mac-Casquil, formerly of Drum- 
quag, who was ruined by having a legacy bequeathed to him 
of two shares in the Ayr bank. His hopes on the present 
occasion are founded on a very distant relationship, upon his 
sitting in the same pew with the deceased every Sunday, and 
upon his playing at cribbage with her regularly on the Satur- 
day evenings, taking great care never to come off a winner. 
That other coarse-looking man, wearing his own greasy hair 
tied in a leathern cue more greasy still, is a tobacconist, a 
relation of Mrs. Bertram’s mother, who, having a good stock 
in trade when the colonial war broke out, trebled the price 
of his commodity to all the world, Mrs. Bertram alone ex- 

267 


GUY MANNERING 


cepted, whose tortoise-shell snuff-box was weekly filled with 
the best rappee at the old prices, because the maid brought it 
to the shop with Mrs. Bertram's respects to her cousin Mr. 
Quid. That young fellow, who has not had the decency to 
put off his boots and buckskins, might have stood as forward 
as most of them in the graces of the old lady, who loved to 
look upon a comely young man ; but it is thought he has for- 
feited the moment of fortune by sometimes neglecting her 
tea-table when solemnly invited, sometimes appearing there 
when he had been dining with blyther company, twice tread- 
ing upon her cat’s tail, and once affronting her parrot. 

To Mannering the most interesting of the group was the 
poor girl who had been a sort of humble companion of the 
deceased, as a subject upon whom she could at all times ex- 
pectorate her bad humour. She was for form’s sake dragged 
into the room by the deceased’s favourite female attendant, 
where, shrinking into a corner as soon as possible, she saw 
with wonder and affright the intrusive researches of the 
strangers amongst those recesses to which from childhood 
she had looked with awful veneration. This girl was re- 
garded with an unfavourable eye by all the competitors, 
honest Dinmont only excepted; the rest conceived they should 
find in her a formidable competitor, whose claims might at 
least encumber and diminish their chance of succession. Yet 
she was the only person present who seemed really to feel 
sorrow for the deceased. Mrs. Bertram, had been her pro- 
tectress, although from selfish motives, and her capricious 
tyranny was forgotten at the moment, while the tears fol- 
lowed each other fast down the cheeks of her frightened and 
friendless dependent. ‘There’s ower muckle saut water there, 
Drumquag,’ said the tobacconist to the ex-proprietor, ‘to bode 
ither folk muckle gude. Folk seldom greet that gate but they 
ken what it’s for.’ Mr. Mac-Casquil only replied with a nod, 
feeling the propriety of asserting his superior gentry in pres- 
ence of Mr. Pleydell and Colonel Mannering. 

‘Very queer if there suld be nae will after a’, friend,’ said 
Dinmont, who began to grow impatient, to the man of busi- 
ness. 

‘A moment’s patience, if you please. She was a good and 
prudent woman, Mrs. Margaret Bertram — a good and pru- 

268 


GUY MANNERING 


dent and well-judging woman, and knew how to choose 
friends and depositaries ; she may have put her last will and 
testament, or rather her mortis causa settlement, as it relates 
to heritage, into the hands of some safe friend.’ 

‘I’ll bet a rump and dozen,’ said Pleydell, whispering to the 
Colonel, ‘he has got it in his own pocket.’ Then addressing 
the man of law, ‘Come, sir, we’ll cut this short, if you please: 
here is a settlement of the estate of Singleside, executed sev- 
eral years ago, in favour of Miss Lucy Bertram of Ellan- 
gowan.’ The company stared fearfully wild. ‘You, I pre- 
sume, Mr. Protocol, can inform us if there is a later deed?’ 

‘Please to favour me, Mr. Pleydell’ ; and so saying, he took 
the deed out of the learned counsel’s hand, and glanced his 
eye over the contents. 

‘Too cool,’ said Pleydell, ‘too cool by half ; he has another 
deed in his pocket still.’ 

‘Why does he not show it, then, and be d — d to him !’ said 
the military gentleman, whose patience began to wax thread- 
bare. 

‘Why, how should I know?’ answered the barrister; ‘why 
does a cat not kill a mouse when she takes him? The con- 
sciousness of power and the love of teasing, I suppose. Well, 
Mr. Protocol, what say you to that deed?’ 

‘Why, Mr. Pleydell, the deed is a well-drawn deed, properly 
authenticated and tested in forms of the statute.’ 

‘But recalled or superseded by another of posterior date in 
your possession, eh ?’ said the Counsellor. 

‘Something of the sort, I confess, Mr. Pleydell,’ rejoined 
the man of business, producing a bundle tied with tape, and 
sealed at each fold and ligation with black wax. ‘That deed, 
Mr. Pleydell, which you produce and found upon, is dated ist 
June 17 — ; but this (breaking the seals and unfolding the 
document slowly) is dated the 20th — no, I see it is the 21st — 
of April of this present year, being ten years posterior.’ 

‘Marry, hang her, brock!’ said the Counsellor, borrowing 
an exclamation from Sir Toby Belch; ‘just the month in 
which Ellangowan’s distresses became generally public. But 
let us hear what she has done.’ 

Mr. Protocol accordingly, having required silence, began 
to read the settlement aloud in a slow, steady, business-like 

269 


GUY MANNERING 


tone. The group around, in whose eyes hope alternately 
awakened and faded, and who were straining their apprehen- 
sions to get at the drift of the testator’s meaning through the 
mist of technical language in which the conveyance had in- 
volved it, might have made a study for Hogarth. 

The deed was of an unexpected nature. It set forth with 
conveying and disponing all and whole the estate and lands 
of Singleside and others, with the lands of Loverless, Lie- 
alone, Spinster’s Knowe, and heaven knows what beside, ‘to 
and in favours of (here the reader softened his voice to a 
gentle and modest piano) Peter Protocol, clerk to the signet, 
having the fullest confidence in his capacity and integrity — 
these are the very words which my worthy deceased friend 
insisted upon my inserting — but in trust always (here the 
reader recovered his voice and style, and the visages of sev- 
eral of the hearers, which had attained a longitude that Mr. 
Mortcloke might have envied, were perceptibly shortened) — 
in TRUST always, and for the uses, ends, and purposes herein 
after-mentioned.’ 

In these ‘uses, ends, and purposes’ lay the cream of the 
affair. The first was introduced by a preamble setting forth 
that the testatrix was lineally descended from the ancient 
house of Ellangowan, her respected great-grandfather, An- 
drew Bertram, first of Singleside, of happy memory, having 
been second son to Allan Bertram, fifteenth Baron of Ellan- 
gowan. It proceeded to state that Henry Bertram, son and 
heir of Godfrey Bertram, now of Ellangowan, had been 
stolen from his parents in infancy, but that she, the testatrix, 
was well assured that he was yet alive in foreign parts, and 
by the providence of heaven would he restored to the posses- 
sions of his ancestors, in which case the said Peter Protocol 
was bound and obliged, like as he bound and obliged himself, 
by acceptance of these presents, to denude himself of the said 
lands of Singleside and others, and of all the other effects 
thereby conveyed (excepting always a proper gratification 
for his own trouble) , to and in favour of the said Henry Ber- 
tram, upon his return to his native country. And during the 
time of his residing in foreign parts, or in case of his never 
again returning to Scotland, Mr. Peter Protocol, the trustee, 
was directed to distribute the rents of the land, and interest 

270 


GUY MANNERING 


of the other funds (deducting always a proper gratification 
for his trouble in the premises), in equal portions, among 
four charitable establishments pointed out in the will. The 
power of management, of letting leases, of raising and lend- 
ing out money, in short, the full authority of a proprietor, 
was vested in this confidential trustee, and, in the event of his 
death, went to certain official persons named in the deed. 
There were only two legacies ; one of a hundred pounds to a 
favourite waiting-maid, another of the like sum to Janet Gib- 
son (whom the deed stated to have been supported by the 
charity of the testatrix), for the purpose of binding her an 
apprentice to some honest trade. 

A settlement in mortmain is in Scotland termed a mortifica- 
tion, and in one great borough (Aberdeen, if I remember 
rightly) there is a municipal officer who takes care of these 
public endowments, and is thence called the Master of Morti- 
fications. One would almost presume that the term had its 
origin in the effect which such settlements usually produce 
upon the kinsmen of those by whom they are executed. 
Heavy at least was the mortification which befell the audi- 
ence who, in the late Mrs. Margaret Bertram’s parlour, had 
listened to this unexpected destination of the lands of Single- 
side. There was a profound silence after the deed had been 
read over. 

Mr. Pleydell was the first to speak. He begged to look at 
the deed, and, having satisfied himself that it was correctly 
drawn and executed, he returned it without any observation, 
only saying aside to Mannering, ‘Protocol is not worse than 
other people, I believe ; but this old lady has determined that, 
if he do not turn rogue, it shall not be for want of tempta- 
tion.’ 

‘I really think,’ said Mr. Mac-Casquil of Drumquag, who, 
having, gulped down one half of his vexation, determined to 
give vent to the rest — ‘I really think this is an extraordinary 
case ! I should like now to know from Mr. Protocol, who, 
being sole and unlimited trustee, must have been consulted 
upon this occasion — I should like, I say, to know how Mrs. 
Bertram could possibly believe in the existence of a boy that 
a’ the world kens was murdered many a year since?’ 

‘Really, sir,’ said Mr. Protocol, ‘I do not conceive it is pos- 
271 


GUY MANNERING 


sible for me to explain her motives more than she has done 
herself. Our excellent deceased friend was a good woman, 
sir — a pious woman — and might have grounds for confidence 
in the boy’s safety which are not accessible to us, sir.’ \ 

‘Hout,’ said the tobacconist, ‘I ken very weel what were 
her grounds for confidence. There’s Mrs. Rebecca (the 
maid) sitting there has tell’d me a hundred times in my ain 
shop, there was nae kenning how her leddy wad settle her 
affairs, for an auld gipsy witch wife at Gilsland had possessed 
her with a notion that the callant — Harry Bertram ca’s she 
him? — would come alive again some day after a’. Ye’ll no 
deny that, Mrs. Rebecca? though I dare to say ye forgot to 
put your mistress in mind of what ye promised to say when I 
gied ye mony a half-crown. But ye’ll no deny what I am 
saying now, lass?’ 

T ken naething at a’ about it,’ answered Rebecca, doggedly,^ 
and looking straight forward with the firm countenance of 
one not disposed to be compelled to remember more than was 
agreeable to her. 

‘Weel said, Rebecca! ye’re satisfied wi’ your ain share ony 
way,’ rejoined the tobacconist. 

The buck of the second-head, for a buck of the first-head he 
was not, had hitherto been slapping his boots with his switch- 
whip, and looking like a spoiled child that has lost its supper. 
His murmurs, however, were all vented inwardly, or at most 
in a soliloquy such as this — ‘I am sorry, by G — d, I ever 
plagued myself about her. I came here, by G — d, one night 
to drink tea, and I left King and the Duke’s rider Will Hack. 
They were toasting a round of running horses ; by G — d, I 
might have got leave to wear the jacket as well as other folk 
if I had carried it on with them ; and she has not so much as 
left me that hundred !’ 

‘We’ll make the payment of the note quite agreeable,’ said 
Mr. Protocol, who had no wish to increase at that moment 
the odium attached to his office. ‘And now, gentlemen, I 
fancy we have no more to wait for here, and I shall put the 
settlement of my excellent and worthy friend on record to- 
morrow, that every gentleman may examine the contents, and 
have free access to take an extract; and’ — he proceeded to 
lock up the repositories of the deceased with more speed 

272 


GUY MANNERING 


than he had opened them — 'Mrs. Rebecca, ye’ll be so kind 
as to keep all right here until we can let the house ; I had an 
offer from a tenant this morning, if such a thing should be, 
and if I was to have any management.’ 

Our friend Dinmont, having had his hopes as well as an- 
other, had hitherto sate sulky enough in the arm-chair for- 
merly appropriated to the deceased, and in which she would 
have been not a little scandalised to have seen this colossal 
specimen of the masculine gender lolling at length. His em- 
ployment had been rolling up into the form of a coiled snake 
the long lash of his horse-whip, and then by a jerk causing it 
to unroll itself into the middle of the floor. The first words 
he said when he had digested the shock contained a mag- 
nanimous declaration, which he probably was not conscious 
of having uttered aloud — ‘Weel, blude’s thicker than water; 
she’s welcome to the cheeses and the hams just the same.’ 
But when the trustee had made the above-mentioned motion 
for the mourners to depart, and talked of the house being 
immediately let, honest Dinmont got upon his feet and 
stunned the company with this blunt question, ‘And what’s 
to come o’ this poor lassie then, Jenny Gibson? Sae 
mony o’ us as thought oursells sib to the family when the 
gear was parting, we may do something for her amang us 
surely.’ 

This proposal seemed to dispose most of the assembly in- 
stantly to evacuate the premises, although upon Mr. Proto- 
col’s motion they had lingered as if around the grave of their 
disappointed hopes. Drumquag said, or rather muttered, 
something of having a family of his own, and took prece- 
dence, in virtue of his gentle blood, to depart as fast as pos- 
sible. The tobacconist sturdily stood forward and scouted 
the motion — ‘A little huzzie like that was weel eneugh pro- 
vided for already; and Mr. Protocol at ony rate was the 
proper person to take direction of her, as he had charge of 
her legacy’ ; and after uttering such his opinion in a steady 
and decisive tone of voice, he also left the place. The buck 
made a stupid and brutal attempt at a jest upon Mrs. Ber- 
tram’s recommendation that the poor girl should be taught 
some honest trade ; but encountered a scowl from Colonel 
Mannering’s darkening eye (to whom, in his ignorance of the 

18 273 


GUY MANNERING 


tone of good society, he had looked for applause) that made 
him ache to the very backbone. He shuffled downstairs, 
therefore, as fast as possible. 

Protocol, who was really a good sort of man, next ex- 
pressed his intention to take a temporary charge of the young 
lady, under protest always that his so doing should be con- 
sidered as merely eleemosynary ; when Dinmont at length got 
up, and, having shaken his huge dreadnought great-coat, as 
a Newfoundland dog does his shaggy hide when he comes 
out of the water, ejaculated, Weel, deil hae me then, if ye 
hae ony fash wi’ her, Mr. Protocol, if she likes to gang hame 
wi’ me, that is. Ye see, Ailie and me we’re weel to pass, and 
we would like the lassies to hae a wee bit mair lair than our- 
sells, and to be neighbour-like, that wad we. And ye see 
Jenny canna miss but to ken manners, and the like o’ reading 
books, and sewing seams, having lived sae lang wi’ a grand 
lady like Lady Singleside ; or, if she disna ken ony thing about 
it. I’m jealous that our bairns will like her a’ the better. And 
I’ll take care o’ the bits o’ claes, and what spending siller she 
maun hae, so the hundred pound may rin on in your hands, 
Mr. Protocol, and Pll be adaing something till’t, till she’ll 
maybe get a Liddesdale joe that wants something to help to 
buy the hirsel. What d’ye say to that, hinny? I’ll take out 
a ticket for ye in the fly to Jethart; odd, but ye maun take a' 
powny after that o’er the Limestane Rig, deil a wheeled car- 
riage ever gaed into Liddesdale.^ And I’ll be very glad if 
Mrs. Rebecca comes wi’ you, hinny, and stays a month or twa 
while ye’re stranger like.’ 

While Mrs. Rebecca was courtesying, and endeavouring to 
make the poor orphan girl courtesy instead of crying, and 
while Dandie, in his rough way, was encouraging them both, 
old Pleydell had recourse to his snuff-box. ‘It’s meat and 
drink to me now, Colonel,’ he said, as he recovered himself, 
'to see a clown like this. I must gratify him in his own way, 
must assist him to ruin himself ; there’s no help for it. Here, 
you Liddesdale — ^Dandie — Charlie’s Hope — what do they call 
you?’ 

The farmer turned, infinitely gratified even by this sort of 
^ See Roads of Liddesdale. Note 8. 


GUY MANNERING 


notice ; for in his heart, next to his own landlord, he honoured 
a lawyer in high practice. 

‘So you will not be advised against trying that question 
about your marches ?’ 

‘No, no, sir; naebody likes to lose their right, and to be 
laughed at down the haill water. But since your honour’s 
no agreeable, and is maybe a friend to the other side like, we 
maun try some other advocate.’ 

‘There, I told you so, Colonel Mannering! Well, sir, if 
you must needs be a fool, the business is to give you the lux- 
ury of a lawsuit at the least possible expense, and to bring 
you off conqueror if possible. Let Mr. Protocol send me 
your papers, and I will advise him how to conduct your 
cause. I don’t see, after all, why you should not have your 
lawsuits too, and your feuds in the Court of Sessions, as well 
as your forefathers had their manslaughters and fire-raisings.’ 

‘Very natural, to be sure, sir. We wad just take the auld 
gate as readily, if it werena for the law. And as the law 
binds us, the law should loose us. Besides, a man’s aye the 
better thought o’ in our country for having been afore the 
Feifteen.’ 

‘Excellently argued, my friend ! Away with you, and send 
vour papers to me. Come, Colonel, we have no more to do 
here.’ 

‘God, we’ll ding Jock o’ Dawston Cleugh now after a’!’ 
said Dinmont, slapping his thigh in great exultation. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

I am going to the parliament ; 

You understand this bag: If you have any business 
Depending there, be short, and let me hear it. 

And pay your fees. 

Little French Lawyer. 

' QHALL you be able to carry this honest fellow’s cause for 
1^ him?’ said Mannering. 

‘Why, I don’t know ; the battle is not to the strong, but he 
shall come off triumphant over Jock of Dawston if we can 
make it out. I owe him something. It is the pest of our pro- 

275 


GUY MANNERING 


fession that we seldom see the best side of human nature. 
People come to us with every selfish feeling newly pointed 
and grinded; they turn down the very caulkers of their ani- 
mosities and prejudices, as smiths do with horses’ shoes in a 
white frost. Many a man has come to my garret yonder 
that I have at first longed to pitch out at the window, and 
yet at length have discovered that he was only doing as I 
might have done in his case, being very angry, and of course 
very unreasonable. I have now satisfied myself that, if our 
profession sees more of human folly and human roguery than 
others, it is because we witness them acting in that channel in 
which they can most freely vent themselves. In civilised so- 
ciety law is the chimney through which all that smoke dis- 
charges itself that used to circulate through the whole house, 
and put every one’s eyes out ; no wonder, therefore, that the 
vent itself should sometimes get a little sooty. But we will 
take care our Liddesdale man’s cause is well conducted and 
well argued, so all unnecessary expense will be saved : he 
shall have his pine-apple at wholesale price.’ 

'Will you do me the pleasure,’ said Mannering, as they 
parted, ‘to dine with me at my lodgings? My landlord says 
he has a bit of red-deer venison and some excellent wine.’ 

‘Venison, eh?’ answered the Counsellor alertly, but pres- 
ently added — ‘But no! it’s impossible; and I can’t ask you 
home neither. Monday’s a sacred day; so’s Tuesday; and 
Wednesday we are to be heard in the great teind case in pres- 
ence; but stay — it’s frosty weather, and if you don’t leave 
town, and that venison would keep till Thursday ’ 

‘You will dine with me that day?’ 

‘Under certification.’ 

‘Well, then, I will indulge a thought I had of spending a 
week here ; and if the venison will not keep, why we will see 
what else our landlord can do for us.’ 

‘O, the venison will keep,’ said Pleydell; ‘and now good- 
bye. Look at these two or three notes, and deliver them if 
you like the addresses. I wrote them for you this morning. 
Farewell, my clerk has been waiting this hour to begin a 
d — d information.’ And away walked Mr. Pleydell with 
great activity, diving through closes and ascending covered 
stairs in order to attain the High Street by an access which, 

276 


GUY MANNERING 


compared to the common route, was what the Straits of Ma- 
gellan are to the more open but circuitous passage round 
Cape Horn. 

On looking at the notes of introduction which Pleydell had 
thrust into his hand, Mannering was gratified with seeing 
that they were addressed to some of the first literary charac- 
ters of Scotland. ‘To David Hume, Esq.’ ‘To John Home, 
Esq.’ ‘To Dr. Ferguson.’ ‘To Dr. Black.’ ‘To Lord 
Kaimes.’ ‘To Mr. Hutton.’ ‘To John Clerk, Esq., of Eldin.’ 
‘To Adam Smith, Esq.’ ‘To Dr. Robertson.’ 

‘Upon my word, my legal friend has a good selection of 
acquaintances; these are names pretty widely blown indeed. 
An East-Indian must rub up his faculties a little, and put his 
mind in order, before he enters this sort of society.’ 

Mannering gladly availed himself of these introductions; 
and we regret deeply it is not in our power to give the reader 
an account of the pleasure and information which he received 
in admission to a circle never closed against strangers of 
sense and information, and which has perhaps at no period 
been equalled, considering the depth and variety of talent 
which it embraced and concentrated. 

Upon the Thursday appointed Mr. Pleydell made his ap- 
pearance at the inn where Colonel Mannering lodged. The 
venison proved in high order, the claret excellent, and the 
learned counsel, a professed amateur in the affairs of the 
table, did distinguished honour to both. I am uncertain, 
however, if even the good cheer gave him more satisfaction 
than the presence of Dominie Sampson, from whom, in his 
own juridical style of wit, he contrived to extract great 
amusement both for himself and one or two friends whom the 
Colonel regaled on the same occasion. The grave and laconic 
simplicity of Sampson’s answers to the insidious questions of 
the barrister placed the bonhomie of his character in a more 
luminous point of view than Mannering had yet seen it. Upon 
the same occasion he drew forth a strange quantity of mis- 
cellaneous and abstruse, though, generally speaking, useless 
learning. The lawyer afterwards compared his mind to the 
magazine of a pawnbroker, stowed with goods of every de- 
scription, but so cumbrously piled together, and in such total 
disorganisation, that the owner can never lay his hands 

277 


GUY MANNERING 


upon any one article at the moment he has occasion for it. 

As for the advocate himself, he afforded at least as much 
exercise to Sampson as he extracted amusement from him. 
When the man of law began to get into his altitudes, and his 
wit, naturally shrewd and dry, became more lively and poig- 
nant, the Dominie looked upon him with that sort of surprise 
with which we can conceive a tame bear might regard his 
future associate, the monkey, on their being first introduced 
to each other. It was Mr. Pleydelhs delight to state in grave 
and serious argument some position which he knew the Domi- 
nie would be inclined to dispute. He then beheld with ex- 
quisite pleasure the internal labour with which the honest man 
arranged his ideas for reply, and tasked his inert and sluggish 
powers to bring up all the heavy artillery of his learning for 
demolishing the schismatic or heretical opinion which had 
been stated, when behold, before the ordnance could be dis- 
charged, the foe had quitted the post and appeared in a new 
position of annoyance on the Dominie’s flank or rear. Often 
did he exclaim ‘Prodigious !’ when, marching up to the 
enemy in full confidence of victory, he found the field evacu- 
ated, and it may be supposed that it cost him no little labour 
to attempt a new formation. ‘He was like a native Indian 
army,’ the Colonel said, ‘formidable by numerical strength 
and size of ordnance, but liable to be thrown into irreparable 
confusion by a movement to take them in flank.’ On the 
whole, however, the Dominie, though somewhat fatigued with 
these mental exertions, made at unusual speed and upon the 
pressure of the moment, reckoned this one of the white days 
of his life, and always mentioned Mr. Pleydell as a very 
erudite and fa-ce-ti-ous person. 

By degrees the rest of the party dropped off and left these 
three gentlemen together. Their conversation turned to Mrs. 
Bertram’s settlements. ‘Now what could drive it into the 
noddle of that old harridan,’ said Pleydell, ‘to disinherit poor 
Lucy Bertram under pretence of settling her property on a 
boy who has been so long dead and gone? I ask your par- 
don, Mr. Sampson, I forgot what an affecting case this was 
for you ; I remember taking your examinations upon it, and 
I never had so much trouble to make any one speak three 
words consecutively. You may talk of your Pythagoreans 

278 


GUYi MANNERING 


or your silent Bramins, Colonel ; go to, I tell you this learned 
gentleman beats them all in taciturnity ; but the words of the 
wise are precious, and not to be thrown away lightly/ 

‘Of a surety,’ said the Dominie, taking his blue-checqued 
handkerchief from his eyes, ‘that was a bitter day with me 
indeed ; ay, and a day of grief hard to be borne ; but He giveth 
strength who layeth on the load/ 

Colonel Mannering took this opportunity to request Mr. 
Pleydell to inform him of the particulars attending the loss of 
the boy; and the Counsellor, who was fond of talking upon 
subjects of criminal jurisprudence, especially when connected 
with his own experience, went through the circumstances at 
full length. ‘And what is your opinion upon the result of 
the whole?’ 

‘O, that Kennedy was murdered ; it’s an old case which has 
occurred on that coast before now, the case of Smuggler 
versus Exciseman.’ 

‘What, then, is your conjecture concerning the fate of the 
child?’ 

‘O, murdered too, doubtless,’ answered Pleydell. ‘He was 
old enough to tell what he had seen, and these ruthless scoun- 
drels would not scruple committing a second Bethlehem mas- 
sacre if they thought their interest required it.’ 

The Dominie groaned deeply, and ejaculated ‘Enormous!’ 

‘Yet there was mention of gipsies in the business too. Coun- 
sellor,’ said Mannering, ‘and from what that vulgar-looking 
fellow said after the funeral ’ 

‘Mrs. Margaret Bertram’s idea that the child was alive was 
founded upon the report of a gipsy?’ said Pleydell, catching 
at the half-spoken hint. T envy you the concatenation. Colo- 
nel ; it is a shame to me not to have drawn the same conclu- 
sion. We’ll follow this business up instantly. Here, hark 
ye, waiter, go down to Luckie Wood’s in the Cowgate ; ye’ll 
find my clerk Driver; he’ll be set down to high jinks by this 
time — for we and our retainers. Colonel, are exceedingly reg- 
ular in our irregularities — tell him to come here instantly and 
I will pay his forfeits.’ 

‘He won’t appear in character, will he?’ said Mannering. 

‘Ah! “no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me,”’ said 
Pleydell. ‘But we must have some news from the land of 

279 


GUY MANNERING 


Egypt, if possible. O, if I had but hold of the slightest 
thread of this complicated skein, you should see how I would 
unravel it! I would work the truth out of your Bohemian, 
as the French call them, better than a monitoire or a plaifite 
de Tournelle; I know how to manage a refractory witness/ 

While Mr. Pleydell was thus vaunting his knowledge of his 
profession, the waiter re-entered with Mr. Driver, his mouth 
still greasy with mutton pies, and the froth of the last draught 
of twopenny yet unsubsided on his upper lip, with such speed | 
had he obeyed the commands of his principal. ‘Driver, you 
must go instantly and find out the woman who was old Mrs. 
Margaret Bertram’s maid. Inquire for her everywhere, but ! 
if you find it necessary to have recourse to Protocol, Quid the 
tobacconist, or any other of these folk, you will take care not i 
to appear yourself, but send some woman of your acquaint- | 
ance ; I daresay you know enough that may be so condescend- I 
ing as to oblige you. When you have found her out, engage 
her to come to my chambers to-morrow at eight o’clock pre- 
cisely.’ 

‘What shall I say to make her forthcoming?’ asked the aid- 
de-camp. 

‘Anything you choose,’ replied the lawyer. ‘Is it my busi- 
ness to make lies for you, do you think? But let her be in 
prcesentia by eight o’clock, as I have said before.’ The clerk 
grinned, made his reverence, and exit. 

‘That’s a useful fellow,’ said the Counsellor; ‘I don’t be- 
lieve his match ever carried a process. He’ll write to my 
dictating three nights in the week without sleep, or, what’s 
the same thing, he writes as well and correctly when he’s 
asleep as when he’s awake. Then he’s such a steady fellow ; 
some of them are always changing their ale-houses, so that 
they have twenty cadies sweating after them, like the bare- 
headed captains traversing the taverns of Eastcheap in search 
of Sir John FalstafiF: But this is a complete fixture; he has 
his winter seat by the fire and his summer seat by the win- 
dow in Luckie Wood’s, betwixt which seats are his only mi- , 
grations ; there he’s to be found at all times when he is oflf 
duty. It is my opinion he never puts off his clothes or goes to 
sleep ; sheer ale supports him under everything. It is meat, 
drink, and cloth, bed, board, and washing.’ 

280 


GUY MANNERING 


‘And is he always fit for duty upon a sudden turnout? I 
should distrust it, considering his quarters/ 

‘O, drink never disturbs him, Colonel; he can write for 
hours after he cannot speak. I remember being called sud- 
denly to draw an appeal case. I had been dining, and it was 
Saturday night, and I had ill will to begin to it; however, 
they got me down to Clerihugh’s, and there we sat birling 
till I had a fair tappit hen^ under my belt, and then they per- 
suaded me to draw the paper. Then we had to seek Driver, 
and it was all that two men could do to bear him in, for, 
when found, he was, as it happened, both motionless and 
speechless. But no sooner was his pen put between his fin- 
gers, his paper stretched before him, and he heard my voice, 
than he began to write like a scrivener; and, excepting that 
we were obliged to have somebody to dip his pen in the ink, 
for he could not see the standish, I never saw a thing scrolled 
more handsomely.’ 

‘But how did your joint production look the next morning?’ 
said the Colonel. 

‘Wheugh ! capital ! not three words required to be altered f 
it was sent oif by that day’s post. But you’ll come and break- 
fast with me to-morrow, and hear this woman’s exami- 
nation ?’ 

‘Why, your hour is rather early.’ 

‘Can’t make it later. If I were not on the boards of the 
Outer House precisely as the nine-hours’ bell rings, there 
would be a report that I had got an apoplexy, and I should 
feel the effects of it all the rest of the session.’ 

‘Well, I will make an exertion to wait upon you.’ 

Here the company broke up for the evening. 

In the morning Colonel Mannering appeared at the Coun- 
sellor’s chambers, although cursing the raw air of a Scottish 
morning in December. Mr. Pleydell had got Mrs. Rebecca 
installed on one side of his fire, accommodated her with a 
cup of chocolate, and was already deeply engaged in conver- 
sation with her. ‘O no, I assure you, Mrs. Rebecca, there is 
no intention to challenge your mistress’s will ; and I give you 
my word of honour that your legacy is quite safe. You have 

^ See Note 9. 

^ See Convivial Habits of the Scottish Bar. Note 10. 

281 


GUY MANNERING 


deserved it by your conduct to your mistress, and I wish it 
had been twice as much.’ 

‘Why, to be sure, sir, it’s no right to mention what is said 
before ane ; ye heard how that dirty body Quid cast up to me 
the bits o’ compliments he gied me, and tell’d ower again ony 
loose cracks I might hae had wi’ him ; now if ane was talking 
loosely to your honour, there’s nae saying what might 
come o’t.’ 

‘I assure you, my good Rebecca, my character and your 
own age and appearance are your security, if you should talk 
as loosely as an amatory poet.’ 

‘Aweel, if your honour thinks I am safe — the story is just 
this. Ye see, about a year ago, or no just sae lang, my leddy 
was advised to go to Gilsland for a while, for her spirits were 
distressing her sair. Ellangowan’s troubles began to be 
spoken o’ publicly, and sair vexed she was. for she was proud 
o’ her family. For Ellangowan himsell and her, they some- 
times ’greed and sometimes no; but at last they didna ’gree 
at a’ for twa or three year, for he was aye wanting to borrow 
siller, and that was what she couldna bide at no hand, and 
she was aye wanting it paid back again, and that the Laird 
he liked as little. So at last they were clean aff thegither. 
And then some of the company at Gilsland tells her that the 
estate was to be sell’d ; and ye wad hae thought she had taen 
an ill will at Miss Lucy Bertram frae that moment, for mony 
a time she cried to me, “O Becky, O Becky, if that useless 
peenging thing o’ a lassie there at Ellangowan, that canna 
keep her ne’er-do-weel father within bounds — if she had been 
but a lad-bairn they couldna hae sell’d the auld inheritance 
for that fool-body’s debts”; and she would rin on that way 
till I was just wearied and sick to hear her ban the puir 
lassie, as if she wadna hae been a lad-bairn and keepit the 
land if it had been in her will to change her sect. And ae day 
at the spaw-well below the craig at Gilsland she was seeing 
a very bonny family o’ bairns — they belanged to ane Mac- 
Crosky — and she broke out — “Is not it an odd like thing that 
ilka waf carle in the country has a son and heir, and that the 
house of Ellangowan is without male succession?” There 
was a gipsy wife stood ahint and heard her, a muckle sture 
fearsome-looking wife she was as ever I set een on. “Wha is 

282 


GUY MANNERING 


it,” says she, ^hhat dare say the house of Ellangowan will 
perish without male succession ?’’ My mistress just turned 
on her ; she was a high-spirited woman, and aye ready wi’ an 
answer to a’body. “It’s me that says it,” says she, “that 
may say it with a sad heart.” Wi’ that the gipsy wife 
gripped till her hand — “I ken you weel eneugh,” says she, 
“though ye kenna me. But as sure as that sun’s in heaven, 
and as sure as that water’s rinning to the sea, and as sure 
as there’s an ee that sees and an ear that hears us baith, Harry 
Bertram, that was thought to perish at Warroch Point, never 
did die there. He was to have a weary weird o’t till his ane- 
and-twentieth year, that was aye said o’ him; but if ye live 
and I live, ye’ll hear mair o’ him this winter before the snaw 
lies twa days on the Dun of Singleside. I want nane o’ your 
siller,” she said, “to make ye think I am blearing your ee; 
fare ye weel till after Martinmas,” and there she left us 
standing.’ 

‘Was she a very tall woman?’ interrupted Mannering. 

‘Had she black hair, black eyes, and a cut above the brow ?’ 
added the lawyer. 

‘She was the tallest woman I ever saw, and her hair was as 
black as midnight, unless where it was grey, and she had a 
scar abune the brow that ye might hae laid the lith of your 
finger in. Naebody that’s seen her will ever forget her; and 
I am morally sure that it was on the ground o’ what that 
gipsy-woman said that my mistress made her will, having 
taen a dislike at the young leddy o’ Ellangowan. And she 
liked her far waur after she was obliged to send her £20; for 
she said Miss Bertram, no content wi’ letting the Ellangowan 
property pass into strange hands, owing to her being a lass 
and no a lad, was coming, by her poverty, to be a burden and 
a disgrace to Singleside too. But I hope my mistress’s is a 
good will for a’ that, for it would be hard on me to lose the 
wee bit legacy; I served for little fee and bountith, weel 
I wot.’ 

The Counsellor relieved her fears on this head, then in- 
quired after Jenny Gibson, and understood she had accepted 
Mr. Dinmont’s offer. ‘And I have done sae mysell too, since 
he was sae discreet as to ask me,’ said Mrs. Rebecca; ‘they 
are very decent folk the Dinmonts, though my lady didna 

283 


GUY MANNERING 


dow to hear muckle about the friends on that side the house. 
But she liked the Charlie’s Hope hams and the cheeses and 
the muir-fowl that they were aye sending, and the lamb’s- 
wool hose and mittens — she liked them weel eneugh.’ 

Mr. Pleydell now dismissed Mrs. Rebecca. When she was 
gone, ‘I think I know the gipsy-woman,’ said the lawyer. 

‘I was just going to say the same,’ replied Mannering. 

‘And her name,’ said Pleydell 

‘Is Meg Merrilies,’ answered the Colonel. 

‘Are you avised of that?’ said the Counsellor, looking at 
his military friend with a comic expression of surprise. 

Mannering answered that he had known such a woman 
when he was at Ellangowan upwards of twenty years before ; 
and then made his learned friend acquainted with all the re- 
markable particulars of his first visit there. 

Mr. Pleydell listened with great attention, and then replied, 
‘I congratulated myself upon having made the acquaintance 
of a profound theologian in your chaplain; but I really did 
not expect to find a pupil of Albumazar or Messahala in his 
patron. I have a notion, however, this gipsy could tell us 
some more of the matter than she derives from astrology or 
second-sight. I had her through hands once, and could then 
make little of her, but I must write to Mac-Morlan to stir 
heaven and earth to find her out. I will gladly come to 

shire myself to assist at her examination; I am still in 

the commission of the peace there, though I have ceased to 
be sheriff. I never had anything more at heart in my life 
than tracing that murder and the fate of the child. I must 
write to the sheriff of Roxburghshire too, and to an active 
justice of peace in Cumberland.’ 

‘I hope when you come to the country you will make Wood- 
bourne your headquarters?’ 

‘Certainly ; I was afraid you were going to forbid me. But 
we must go to breakfast now or I shall be too late.’ 

On the following day the new friends parted, and the Colo- 
nel rejoined his family without any adventure worthy of 
being detailed in these chapters. 


284 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XL. 

Can no rest find me, no private place secure me, 

But still my miseries like bloodhounds haunt me? 

Unfortunate young man, which way now guides thee. 

Guides thee from death? The country’s laid around for thee. 

Women Pleased. 

O UR narrative now recalls us for a moment to the period 
when young Hazlewood received his wound. That 
accident had no sooner happened than the consequences to 
Miss Mannering and to himself rushed upon Brown’s mind. 
From the manner in which the muzzle of the piece was point- 
ed when it went off, he had no great fear that the conse- 
quences would be fatal. But an arrest in a strange country, 
and while he was unprovided with any means of establishing 
his rank and character, was at least to be avoided. He there- 
fore resolved to escape for the present to the neighbouring 
coast of England, and to remain concealed there, if possible, 
until he should receive letters from his regimental friends, 
and remittances from his agent ; and then to resume his own 
character, and offer to young Hazlewood and his friends any 
explanation or satisfaction they might desire. With this 
purpose he walked stoutly forward, after leaving the spot 
where the accident had happened, and reached without ad- 
venture the village which we have called Portanferry (but 
which the reader will in vain seek for under that name in 
the county map). A large open boat was just about to leave 
the quay, bound for the little seaport of Allonby, in Cumber- 
land. In this vessel Brown embarked, and resolved to make 
that place his temporary abode, until he should receive letters 
and money from England. 

In the course of their short voyage he entered into some 
conversation with the steersman, who was also owner of the 
boat, a jolly old man, who had occasionally been engaged in 
the smuggling trade, like most fishers on the coast. After 
talking about objects of less interest. Brown endeavoured to 
turn the discourse toward the Mannering family. The sailor 
had heard of the attack upon the house at Woodbourne, but 
disapproved of the smugglers’ proceedings. 

28s 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Hands off is fair play; zounds, they’ll bring the whole 
country down upon them. Na, na ! when I was in that way I 
played at giff-gaff with the officers : here a cargo taen— vera 
weel, that was their luck ; there another carried clean through, 
that was mine ; na, na ! hawks shouldna pike out hawks’ een.’ 

‘And this Colonel Mannering?’ said Brown. 

‘Troth, he’s nae wise man neither, to interfere; no that I 
blame him for saving the gauger’s lives, that was very right ; 
but it wasna like a gentleman to be fighting about the poor 
folk’s pocks o’ tea and brandy kegs. However, he’s a grand 
man and an officer man, and they do what they like wi’ the 
like o’ us.’ 

‘And his daughter,’ said Brown, with a throbbing heart, ‘is 
going to be married into a great family too, as I have heard ?’ 

‘What, into the Hazlewoods’ ?’ said the pilot. ‘Na, na, 
that’s but idle clashes; every Sabbath day, as regularly as it 
came round, did the young man ride hame wi’ the daughter 
of the late Ellangowan ; and my daughter Peggy’s in the ser- 
vice up at Woodbourne, and she says she’s sure young Hazle- 
wood thinks nae mair of Miss Mannering than you do.’ 

Bitterly censuring his own precipitate adoption of a con- 
trary belief, Brown yet heard with delight that the suspicions 
of Julia’s fidelity, upon which he had so rashly acted, were 
probably void of foundation. How must he in the meantime 
be suffering in her opinion? or what could she suppose of 
conduct which must have made him appear to her regardless 
alike of her peace of mind and of the interests of their affec- 
tion? The old man’s connexion with the family at Wood- 
bourne seemed to offer a safe mode of communication, of 
which he determined to avail himself. 

‘Your daughter is a maid-servant at Woodbourne ? I knew 
Miss Mannering in India, and, though I am at present in an 
inferior rank of life, I have great reason to hope she would 
interest herself in my favour. I had a quarrel unfortunately 
with her father, who was my commanding officer, and I am 
sure the young lady would endeavour to reconcile him to me. 
Perhaps your daughter could deliver a letter to her upgn the 
subject, without making mischief between her father and 
her?’ 

The old man, a friend to smuggling of every kind, readily 
286 


GUY MANNERING 


answered for the letter’s being faithfully and secretly deliv- 
ered; and, accordingly, as soon as they arrived at Allonby 
Brown wrote to Miss Mannering, stating the utmost contri- 
tion for what had happened through his rashness, and con- 
juring her to let him have an opportunity of pleading his own 
cause, and obtaining forgiveness for his indiscretion. He did 
not judge it safe to go into any detail concerning the circum- 
stances by which he had been misled, and upon the whole 
endeavoured to express himself with such ambiguity that, if 
the letter should fall into wrong hands, it would be difficult 
either to understand its real purport or to trace the writer. 
This letter the old man undertook faithfully to deliver to his 
daughter at Woodbourne ; and, as his trade would speedily 
again bring him or his boat to Allonby, he promised farther 
to take charge of any answer with which the young lady 
might entrust him. 

And now our persecuted traveller landed at Allonby, and 
sought for such accommodations as might at once suit his 
temporary poverty and his desire of remaining as much un- 
observed as possible. With this view he assumed the name 
and profession of his friend Dudley, having command enough 
of the pencil to verify his pretended character to his host of 
Allonby. His baggage he pretended to expect from Wigton ; 
and keeping himself as much within doors as possible, awaited 
the return of the letters which he had sent to his agent, to 
Delaserre, and to his lieutenant-colonel. From the first he 
requested a supply of money; he conjured Delaserre, if pos- 
sible, to join him in Scotland ; and from the lieutenant-colonel 
he required such testimony of his rank and conduct in the 
regiment as should place his character as a gentleman and 
officer beyond the power of question. The inconvenience of 
being run short in his finances struck him so strongly that he 
wrote to Dinmont on that subject, requesting a small tempor- 
ary loan, having no doubt that, being within sixty or sevpty 
miles of his residence, he should receive a speedy as well as 
favourable answer to his request of pecuniary accommoda- 
tion, which was owing, as he stated, to his having been 
robbed after their parting. And then, with impatience 
enough, though without any serious apprehension, he waited 
the answers of these various letters. 

287 


GUY MANNERING 


It must be observed, in excuse of his correspondents, that 
the post was then much more tardy than since Mr. Palmer’s 
ingenious invention has taken place ; and with respect to 
honest Dinmont in particular, as he rarely received above one 
letter a-quarter (unless during the time of his being engaged 
in a law-suit, when he regularly sent to the post-town), his 
correspondence usually remained for a month or two sticking 
in the postmaster’s window among pamphlets, gingerbread, 
rolls, or ballads, according to the trade which the said post- 
master exercised. Besides, there was then a custom, not yet 
wholly obsolete, of causing a letter from one town to another, 
perhaps within the distance of thirty miles, perform a circuit 
of two hundred miles before delivery; which had the com- 
bined advantage of airing the epistle thoroughly, of adding 
some pence to the revenue of the post-office, and of exercising 
the patience of the correspondents. Owing to these circum- 
stances Brown remained several days in Allonby without any 
answers whatever, and his stock of money, though husbanded 
with the utmost economy, began to wear very low, when he 
received by the hands of a young fisherman the following 
letter : — 

'You have acted with the most cruel indiscretion; you 
have shown how little I can trust to your declarations that 
my peace and happiness are dear to you ; and your rashness 
has nearly occasioned the death of a young man of the high- 
est worth and honour. Must I say more? must I add that I 
have been myself very ill in consequence of your violence and 
its effects? And, alas! need I say still farther, that I have 
thought anxiously upon them as they are likely to affect you, 
although you have given me such slight cause to do so ? The 
C. is gone from home for several days, Mr. H. is almost quite 
recovered, and I have reason to think that the blame is laid in 
a quarter different from that where it is deserved. Yet do 
not think of venturing here. Our fate has been crossed by 
accidents of a nature too violent and terrible to permit me 
to think of renewing a correspondence which has so often 
threatened the most dreadful catastrophe. Farewell, there- 
fore, and believe that no one can wish your happiness more 
sincerely than J. M.’ 


288 


GUY MANNERING 


This letter contained that species of advice which is fre- 
quently given for the precise purpose that it may lead to a 
directly opposite conduct from that which it recommends. 
At least so thought Brown, who immediately asked the young 
fisherman if he came from Portanferry. 

‘Ay/ said the lad ; ‘I am auld Willie Johnstone^s son, and 
I got that letter frae my sister Peggy, that’s laundry-maid at 
Woodbourne.’ 

‘My good friend, when do you sail ?’ 

‘With the tide this evening.’ 

‘Pll return with you ; but, as I do not desire to go to Por- 
tanferry, I wish you could put me on shore somewhere on 
the coast.’ 

‘We can easily do that,’ said the lad. 

Although the price of provisions, etc., was then very mod- 
erate, the discharging his lodgings, and the expense of his 
living, together with that of a change of dress, which safety 
as well as a proper regard to his external appearance rendered 
necessary, brought Brown’s purse to a very low ebb. He left 
directions at the post-office that his letters should be for- 
warded to Kippletringan, whither he resolved to proceed and 
reclaim the treasure which he had deposited in the hands of 
Mrs. Mac-Candlish. He also felt it would be his duty to 
assume his proper character as soon as he should receive the 
necessary evidence for supporting it, and, as an officer in the 
king’s service, give and receive every explanation which might 
be necessary with young Hazlewood. ‘If he is not very 
wrong-headed indeed,’ he thought, ‘he must allow the man- 
ner in which I acted to have been the necessary consequence 
of his own overbearing conduct.’ 

And now we must suppose him once more embarked on the 
Solway Firth. The wind was adverse, attended by some rain, 
and they struggled against it without much assistance from 
the tide. The boat was heavily laden with goods (part of 
which were probably contraband), and laboured deep in the 
sea. Brown, who had been bred a sailor, and was indeed 
skilled in most athletic exercises, gave his powerful and effec- 
tual assistance in rowing, or occasionally in steering the boat, 
and his advice in the management, which became the more 
delicate as the wind increased, and, being opposed to the very 
19 289. 


GUY MANNERING 


rapid tides of that coast, made the voyage perilous. At 
length, after spending the whole night upon the firth, they 
were at morning within sight of a beautiful bay upon the 
Scottish coast. The weather was now more mild. The snow, 
which had been for some time waning, had given way entirely 
under the fresh gale of the preceding night. The more dis- 
tant hills, indeed, retained their snowy mantle, but all the 
open country was cleared, unless where a few white patches 
indicated that it had been drifted to an uncommon depth. 
Even under its wintry appearance the shore was highly in- 
teresting. The line of sea-coast, with all its varied curves, 
indentures, and embayments, swept away from the sight on 
either hand, in that varied, intricate, yet graceful and easy 
line which the eye loves i well to pursue. And it was no 
less relieved and varied in elevation than in outline by the 
different forms of the shore, the beach in some places being 
edged by steep rocks, and in others rising smoothly from the 
sands in easy and swelling slopes. Buildings of different 
kinds caught and reflected the wintry sunbeams of a Decem- 
ber morning, and the woods, though now leafless, gave relief 
and variety to the landscape. Brown felt that lively and 
awakening interest which taste and sensibility always derive 
from the beauties of nature when opening suddenly to the 
eye after the dulness and gloom of a night voyage. Perhaps 
— for who can presume to analyse that inexplicable feeling 
which binds the person born in a mountainous country to his 
native hills — perhaps some early associations, retaining their 
effect long after the cause was forgotten, mingled in the 
feelings of pleasure with which he regarded the scene before 
him. 

'And what,’ said Brown to the boatman, 'is the name of 
that fine cape that stretches into the sea with its sloping 
banks and hillocks of wood, and forms the right side of the 
bay ?’ 

'Warroch Point,’ answered the lad. 

'And that old castle, my friend, with the modern house sit- 
uated just beneath it? It seems at this distance a very large 
building.’ 

'That’s the Auld Place, sir; and that’s the New Place below 
it. We’ll land you there if you like.’ 

290 


GUY MANNERING 


‘I should like it of all things. I must visit that ruin before 
I continue my journey.’ 

‘Ay, it’s a queer auld bit,’ said the fisherman; ‘and that 
highest tower is a gude landmark as far as Ramsay in Man 
and the Point of Ayr; there was muckle fighting about the 
place lang syne.’ 

Brown would have inquired into farther particulars, but a 
fisherman is seldom an antiquary. His boatman’s local 
knowledge was summed up in the information already given, 
‘that it was a grand landmark, and that there had been muckle 
fighting about the bit lang syne.’ 

‘I shall learn more of it,’ said Brown to himself, ‘when I 
get ashore.’ 

The boat continued its course close under the point upon 
which the castle was situated, which frowned from the sum- 
mit of its rocky site upon the still agitated waves of the bay 
beneath. T believe,’ said the steersman, ‘ye’ll get ashore here 
as dry as ony gate. There’s a place where their berlins and 
galleys, as they ca’d them, used to lie in lang syne, but it’s no 
used now, because it’s ill carrying gudes up the narrow stairs 
or ower the rocks. Whiles of a moonlight night I have land- 
ed articles there, though.’ 

While he thus spoke they pulled round a point of rock, and 
found a very small harbour, partly formed by nature, partly 
by the indefatigable labour of the ancient inhabitants of the 
castle, who, as the fisherman observed, had found it essential 
for the protection of their boats and small craft, though it 
could not receive vessels of any burden. The two points of 
rock which formed the access approached each other so 
nearly that only one boat could enter at a time. On each side 
were still remaining two immense iron rings, deeply mor- 
ticed into the solid rock. Through these, according to tradi- 
tion, there was nightly drawn a huge chain, secured by an 
immense padlock, for the protection of the haven and the 
armada which it contained. A ledge of rock had, by the as- 
sistance of the chisel and pickaxe, been formed into a sort 
of quay. The rock was of extremely hard consistence, and 
the task so difficult that, according to the fisherman, a la- 
bourer who wrought at the work might in the evening have 
carried home in his bonnet all the shivers which he had struck 

291 


GUY MANNERING 


from the mass in the course of the day. This little quay 
communicated with a rude staircase, already repeatedly men- 
tioned, which descended from the old castle. There was also 
a communication betw*een the beach and the quay, by scram- 
bling over the rocks. I 

‘Ye had better land here,' said the lad, ‘for the surf's run- | 
ning high at the Shellicoat Stane, and there will no be a dry | 
thread amang us or we get the cargo out. Na! na! (in j 
answer to an offer of money), ye have wrought for your 
passage, and wrought far better than ony o' us. Gude day j 
to ye; I wuss ye week' j 

So saying, he pushed off in order to land his cargo on the S 
opposite side of the bay; and Brown, with a small bundle in s 
his hand, containing the trifling stock of necessaries which he ^ 
had been obliged to purchase at Allonby, was left on the | 
rocks beneath the ruin. j 

And thus, unconscious as the most absolute stranger, and 
in circumstances which, if not destitute, were for the present ; 
highly embarrassing, without the countenance of a friend | 
within the circle of several hundred miles, accused of a heavy 
crime, and, what was as bad as all the rest, being nearly pen- | 
niless, did the harassed wanderer for the first time after the j 
interval of so many years approach the remains of the castle | 
where his ancestors had exercised all but regal dominion. j 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Yes, ye moss-green walls, 

Ye towers defenceless, I revisit ye 
Shame-stricken! Where are all your trophies now? 

Your thronged courts, the revelry, the tumult. 

That spoke the grandeur of my house, the homage 
Of neighbouring barons? 

Mysterious Mother, 

E ntering the castle of Ellangowan by a postern door- 
way which showed symptoms of having been once se- 
cured with the most jealous care. Brown (whom, since he has 
set foot upon the property of his fathers, we shall hereafter 
call by his father’s name of Bertram) wandered from one 
ruined apartment to another, surprised at the massive 

292 


GUY MANNERING 


strength of some parts c f the building, the rude and impres- 
sive magnificence of ot.iers, and the great extent of the 
whole. In two of these rooms, close beside each other, he 
saw signs of recent habitation. In one small apartment were 
empty bottles, half-gnawed bones, and dried fragments of 
bread. In the vault which adjoined, and which was defended 
by a strong door, then left open, he observed a considerable 
quantity of straw, and in both were the relics of recent fires. 
How little was it possible for Bertram to conceive that such 
trivial circumstances were closely connected with incidents 
affecting his prosperity, his honour, perhaps his life ! 

After satisfying his curiosity by a hasty glance through the 
interior of the castle, Bertram now advanced through the 
great gateway which opened to the land, and paused to look 
upon the noble landscape which it commanded. Having in 
vain endeavoured to guess the position of Woodbourne, and 
having nearly ascertained that of Kippletringan, he turned to 
take a parting look at the stately ruins which he had just trav- 
ersed. He admired the massive and picturesque effect of 
the huge round towers, which, flanking the gateway, gave a 
double portion of depth and majesty to the high yet gloomy 
arch under which it opened. The carved stone escutcheon of 
the ancient family, bearing for their arms three wolves’ heads, 
was hung diagonally beneath the helmet and crest, the latter 
being a wolf couchant pierced with an arrow. On either 
side stood as supporters, in full human size or larger, a sal- 
vage man proper, to use the language of heraldry, wreathed 
and cinctured, and holding in his hand an oak tree eradicated, 
that is, torn up by the roots. 

'And the powerful barons who owned this blazonry,’ 
thought Bertram, pursuing the usual train of ideas which 
flows upon the mind at such scenes — ‘do their posterity con- 
tinue to possess the lands which they had laboured to fortify 
so strongly? or are they wanderers, ignorant perhaps even 
of the fame or power of their forefathers, while their heredi- 
tary possessions are held by a race of strangers ? Why is it,’ 
he thought, continuing to follow out the succession of ideas 
which the scene prompted — ‘why is it that some scenes 
awaken thoughts which belong as it were to dreams of early 
and shadowy recollection, such as my old Bramin moonshie 

293 


GUY MANNERVNG 


would have ascribed to a state of previous existence? Is it 
the visions of our sleep that float confusedly in our memory, 
and are recalled by the appearance of such real objects as in 
any respect correspond to the phantoms they presented to our 
imagination? How often do we find ourselves in society 
which we have never before met, and yet feel impressed with 
a mysterious and ill-defined consciousness that neither the 
scene, the speakers, nor the subject are entirely new; nay, 
feel as if we could anticipate that part of the conversation 
which has not yet taken place ! It is even so with me while I 
gaze upon that ruin ; nor can I divest myself of the idea that 
these massive towers and that dark gateway, retiring through 
its deep-vaulted and ribbed arches, and dimly lighted by the 
courtyard beyond, are not entirely strange to me. Can it be 
that they have been familiar to me in infancy, and that I am 
to seek in their vicinity those friends of whom my childhood 
has still a tender though faint remembrance, and whom I 
early exchanged for such severe taskmasters? Yet Brown, 
who, I think, would not have deceived me, always told me I 
was brought off from the eastern coast, after a skirmish in 
which my father was killed ; and I do remember enough of a 
horrid scene of violence to strengthen his account.’ 

It happened that the spot upon which young Bertram 
chanced to station himself for the better viewing the castle 
was nearly the same on which his father had died. It was 
marked by a large old oak-tree, the only one on the esplanade, 
and which, having been used for executions by the barons of 
Ellangowan, was called the Justice Tree. It chanced, and 
the coincidence was remarkable, that Glossin was this morn- 
ing engaged with a person whom he was in the habit of con- 
sulting in such matters concerning some projected repairs 
and a large addition to the house of Ellangowan, and that, 
having no great pleasure in remains so intimately connected 
with the grandeur of the former inhabitants, he had resolved 
to use the stones of the ruinous castle in his new edifice. Ac- 
cordingly he came up the bank, followed by the land-sur- 
veyor mentioned on a former occasion, who was also in the 
habit of acting as a sort of architect in case of necessity. In 
drawing the plans, etc., Glossin was in the custom of relying 
upon his own skill. Bertram’s back was towards them as 

294 


GUY MANNERING 


they came up the ascent, and he was quite shrouded by 
the branches of the large tree, so that Glossin was not 
aware of the presence of the stranger till he was close upon 
him. 

‘Yes, sir, as I have often said before to you, the- Old Place 
is a perfect quarry of hewn stone, and it would be better for 
the estate if it were all down, since it is only a den for smug- 
glers.’ At this instant Bertram turned short round upon 
Glossin at the distance of two yards only, and said — ‘Would 
you destroy this fine old castle, sir?’ 

His face, person, and voice were so exactly those of his 
father in his best days, that Glossin, hearing his exclamation, 
and seeing such a sudden apparition in the shape of his pa- 
tron, and on nearly the very spot where he had expired, al- 
most thought the grave had given up its dead ! He staggered 
back two or three paces, as if he had received a sudden and 
deadly wound. He instantly recovered, however, his pres- 
ence of mind, stimulated by the thrilling reflection that it was 
no inhabitant of the other world which stood before him, but 
an injured man whom the slightest want of dexterity on his 
part might lead to his acquaintance with his rights, and the 
means of asserting them to his utter destruction. Yet his 
ideas were so much confused by the shock he had received 
that his first question partook of the alarm. 

‘In the name of God, how came you here ?’ said Glossin. 

‘How came I here?’ repeated Bertram, surprised at the 
solemnity of the address ; ‘I landed a quarter of an hour since 
in the little harbour beneath the castle, and was employing a 
moment’s leisure in viewing these fine ruins. I trust there is 
no intrusion?’ 

‘Intrusion, sir? No sir,’ said Glossin, in some degree re- 
covering his breath, and then whispered a few words into his 
companion’s ear, who immediately left him and descended 
towards the house. ‘Intrusion, sir ? no, sir ; you or any gen- 
tleman are welcome to satisfy your curiosity.’ 

‘I thank you, sir,’ said Bertram. ‘They call this the Old 
Place, I am informed?’ 

‘Yes, sir; in distinction to the New Place, my house there 
below.’ 

Glossin, it must be remarked, was, during the following 

295 


GUY MANNERING 


dialogue, on the one hand eager to learn what local recollec- 
tions young Bertram had retained of the scenes of his in- 
fancy, and on the other compelled to be extremely cautious in 
his replies, lest he should awaken or assist, by some name, 
phrase, or, anecdote, the slumbering train of association. He 
suffered, indeed, during the whole scene the agonies which 
he so richly deserved; yet his pride and interest, like the for- 
titude of a North American Indian, manned him to sustain 
the tortures inflicted at once by the contending stings of a 
guilty conscience, of hatred, of fear, and of suspicion. 

‘I wish to ask the name, sir,’ said Bertram, ‘of the family 
to whom this stately ruin belongs.’ 

‘It is my property, sir; my name is Glossin.’ 

‘Glossin — Glossin ?’ repeated Bertram, as if the answer 
were somewhat different from what he expected. ‘I beg 
your pardon, Mr. Glossin ; I am apt to be very absent. May 
I ask if the castle has been long in your family ?’ 

‘It was built, I believe, long ago by a family called Mac- 
Dingawaie,’ answered Glossin, suppressing for obvious rea- 
sons the more familiar sound of Bertram, which might have 
awakened the recollections which he was anxious to lull to 
rest, and slurring with an evasive answer the question con- 
cerning the endurance of his own possession. 

‘And how do you read the half-defaced motto, sir,’ said 
Bertram, ‘which is upon that scroll above the entablature with 
the arms?’ 

‘I — I — I really do not exactly know,’ replied Glossin. 

‘I should be apt to make it out. Our Right makes our 
Might/ 

‘I believe it is something of that kind,’ said Glossin. 

‘May I ask, sir,’ said the stranger, ‘if it is your family 
motto ?’ 

‘N — n— no — no — not ours. That is, I believe, the motto 
of the former people; mine is — mine is — in fact, I have had 
some correspondence with Mr. Gumming of the Lyon Office 
in Edinburgh about mine. He writes me the Glossins an- 
ciently bore for a motto, “He who takes it, makes it.” 

‘If there be any uncertainty, sir, and the case were mine,’ 
said Bertram, ‘I would assume the old motto, which seems to 
me the better of the two.’ 


296 


GUY MANNERING 


Glossin, whose tongue by this time clove to the roof of his 
mouth, only answered by a nod. 

‘It is odd enough,’ said Bertram, fixing his eye upon the 
arms and gateway, and partly addressing Glossin, partly as it 
were thinking aloud — ‘it is odd the tricks which our memory 
plays us. The remnants of an old prophecy, or song, or 
rhyme of some kind or other, return to my recollection on 
hearing that motto; stay — it is a strange jingle of sounds: 

The dark shall be light, 

And the wrong made right, 

When Bertram’s right and Bertram’s might 
Shall meet on 

I cannot remember the last line — on some particular height; 
height is the rhyme, I am sure ; but I cannot hit upon the pre- 
ceding word.’ 

‘Confound your memory,’ muttered Glossin, ‘you remem- 
ber by far too much of it!’ 

‘There are other rhymes connected with these early recol- 
lections,’ continued the young man. ‘Pray, sir, is there any 
song current in this part of the world respecting a daughter 
of the King of the Isle of Man eloping with a Scottish 
knight ?’ 

‘I am the worst person in the world to consult upon legend- 
ary antiquities,’ answered Glossin. 

‘I could sing such a ballad,’ said Bertram, ‘from one end to 
another when I was a boy. You must know I left Scotland, 
which is my native country, very young, and those who 
brought me up discouraged all my attempts to preserve recol- 
lection of my native land, on account, I believe, of a boyish 
wish which I had to escape from their charge.’ 

‘Very natural,’ said Glossin, but speaking as his utmost 
efforts were unable to unseal his lips beyond the width of a 
quarter of an inch, so that his whole utterance was a kind of 
compressed muttering, very different from the round, bold, 
bullying voice with which he usually spoke. Indeed, his ap- 
pearance and demeanour during all this conversation seemed 
to diminish even his strength and stature ; so that he appeared 
to wither into the shadow of himself, now advancing one foot, 
now the other, now stooping and wriggling his shoulders, 

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GUY MANNERING 


now fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat, now clasping 
his hands together; in short, he was the picture of a mean- 
spirited, shuffling rascal in the very agonies of detection. To ! 
these appearances Bertram was totally inattentive, being 
dragged on as it were by the current of his own associations. 
Indeed, although he addressed Glossin, he was not so much j 
thinking of him as arguing upon the embarrassing state of 
his own feelings and recollection. ‘Yes,’ he said, T preserved j 
my language among the sailors, most of whom spoke Eng- ' 
lish, and when I could get into a corner by myself I used to j 
sing all that song over from beginning to end ; 1 have forgot | 
it all now, but I remember the tune well, though I cannot ! 
guess what should at present so strongly recall it to my i 
memory.’ ^ 

He took his flageolet from his pocket and played a simple j| 
melody. Apparently the tune awoke the corresponding as- | 
sociations of a damsel who, close beside a fine spring about j 
half-way down the descent, and which had once supplied the i 
castle with water, was engaged in bleaching linen. She im- 
mediately took up the song: 

‘ Are these the links of Forth, she said, | 

Or are they the crooks of Dee, j 

Or the bonnie woods of Warroch Head 
That I so fain would see?’ 

‘By heaven,’ said Bertram, ‘it is the very ballad! I must 
learn these words from the girl.’ 

‘Confusion !’ thought Glossin ; ‘if I cannot put a stop to this 
all will be out. O the devil take all ballads and ballad- 
makers and ballad-singers! and that d — d jade too, to set up 
her pipe !’ — ‘You will have time enough for this on some other 
occasion,’ he said aloud; ‘at present’ (for now he saw his 
emissary with two or three men coming up the bank) — ‘at 
present we must have some more serious conversation to- 
gether.’ 

‘How do you mean, sir?’ said Bertram, turning short upon 
him, and not liking the tone which he made use of. 

‘Why, sir, as to that — I believe your name is Brown ?’ said 
Glossin. 

‘And what of that, sir?’ 


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GUY MANNERING 


Glossin looked over his shoulder to see how near his party 
had approached ; they were coming fast on. ‘Vanbeest 
Brown? if I mistake not.' 

‘And what of that, sir?' said Bertram, with increasing as- 
tonishment and displeasure. 

‘Why, in that case,' said Glossin, observing his friends had 
now got upon the level space close beside him — ‘in that case 
you are my prisoner in the king’s name !’ At the same time 
he stretched his hand towards Bertram’s collar, while two of 
the men who had come up seized upon his arms; he shook 
himself, however, free of their grasp by a violent effort, in 
which he pitched the most pertinacious down the bank, and 
drawing his cutlass, stood on the defensive, while those who 
had felt his strength recoiled from his presence and gazed at 
a safe distance. ‘Observe,’ he called out at the same time, 
‘that I have no purpose to resist legal authority; satisfy me 
that you have a magistrate’s warrant, and are authorised to 
make this arrest, and I will obey it quietly; but let no man 
who loves his life venture to approach me till I am satisfied 
for what crime, and by whose authority, I am apprehended.’ 

Glossin then caused one of the officers to show a warrant 
for the apprehension of Vanbeest Brown, accused of the 
crime of wilfully and maliciously shooting at Charles Hazle- 
wood, younger of Hazlewood, with an intent to kill, and also 
of other crimes and misdemeanours, and which appointed 
him, having been so apprehended, to be brought before the 
next magistrate for examination. The warrant being formal, 
and the fact such as he could not deny, Bertram threw down 
his weapon and submitted himself to the officers, who, flying 
on him with eagerness corresponding to their former pusil- 
lanimity, were about to load him with irons, alleging the 
strength and activity which he had displayed as a justification 
of this severity. But Glossin was ashamed or afraid to per- 
mit this unnecessary insult, and directed the prisoner to be 
treated with all the decency, and even respect, that was con- 
sistent with safety. Afraid, however, to introduce him into 
his own house, where still further subjects of recollection 
might have been suggested, and anxious at the same time to 
cover his own proceedings by the sanction of another’s au- 
thority, he ordered his carriage (for he had lately set up a 

299 


GUY MANNERING 


carriage) to be got ready, and in the meantime directed re- 
freshments to be given to the prisoner and the officers, who 
were consigned to one of the rooms in the old castle, until the 
means of conveyance for examination before a magistrate 
should be provided. 


CHAPTER XLIL 

Bring in the evidence. 

Thou robed man of justice, take thy place. 

And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity. 

Bench by his side; you are of the commission. 

Sit you too. 

King Lear. 

W HILE the carriage was getting ready, Glossin had a 
letter to compose, about which he wasted no small 
time. It was to his neighbour, as he was fond of calling him. 
Sir Robert Hazlewood of Hazlewood, the head of an ancient 
and powerful interest in the county, which had in the deca- 
dence of the Ellangowan family gradually succeeded to much 
of their authority and influence. The present representative 
of the family was an elderly man, dotingly fond of his own 
family, which was limited to an only son and daughter, and 
stoically indiflferent to the fate of all mankind besides. For 
the rest, he was honourable in his general dealings because he 
was afraid to suffer the censure of the world, and just from a 
better motive. He was presumptuously over-conceited on the 
score of family pride and importance, a feeling considerably 
enhanced by his late succession to the title of a Nova Scotia 
baronet ; and he hated the memory of the Ellangowan family, 
though now a memory only, because a certain baron of that 
house was traditionally reported to have caused the founder 
of the Hazlewood family hold his stirrup until he mounted 
into his saddle. In his general deportment he was pompous 
and important, affecting a species of florid elocution, which 
often became ridiculous from his misarranging the triads and 
quaternions with which he loaded his sentences. 

To this personage Glossin was now to write in such a con- 
ciliatory style as might be most acceptable to his vanity and 

300 


GUY MANNERING 


family pride, and the following was the form of his note: — 

‘Mr. Gilbert Glossin (he longed to add of Ellangowan, but 
prudence prevailed, and he suppressed that territorial designa- 
tion) — ‘Mr. Gilbert Glossin has the honour to offer his most 
respectful compliments to Sir Robert Hazlewood, and to in- 
form him that he has this morning been fortunate enough to 
secure the person who wounded Mr. C. Hazlewood. As Sir 
Robert Hazlewood may probably choose to conduct the ex- 
amination of this criminal himself, Mr. G. Glossin will cause 
the man to be carried to the inn at Kippletringan or to Hazle- 
wood House, as Sir Robert Hazlewood may be pleased to 
direct. And, with Sir Robert Hazlewood’s permission, Mr, 
G. Glossin will attend him at either of these places with the 
proofs and declarations which he has been so fortunate as to 
collect respecting this atrocious business.’ 

Addressed, 

‘Sir Robert Hazlewood of Hazlewood, Bart. 

‘Hazlewood House, etc. etc. 

'Elln. Gn. 

‘Tuesday.’ 

This note he despatched by a servant on horseback, and 
having given the man some time to get ahead, and desired 
him to ride fast, he ordered two officers of justice to get into 
the carriage with Bertram; and he himself, mounting his 
horse, accompanied them at a slow pace to the point where 
the roads to Kippletringan and Hazlewood House separated, 
and there awaited the return of his messenger, in order that 
his farther route might be determined by the answer he should 
receive from the Baronet. In about half an hour his servant 
returned with the following answer, handsomely folded, and 
sealed with the Hazlewood arms, having the Nova Scotia 
badge depending from the shield : — 

‘Sir Robert Hazlewood of Hazlewood returns Mr. G. Glos- 
sin ’s compliments, and thanks him for the trouble he has 
taken in the matter affecting the safety of Sir Robert’s fam- 
ily. Sir R. H. requests Mr. G. G. will have the goodness to 
bring the prisoner to Hazlewood House for examination, 
with the other proofs or declarations which he mentions. 
And after the business is over, in case Mr. G. G. is not other- 

301 


GUY MANNERING 


wise engaged, Sir R. and Lady Hazlewood request his com- 
pany to dinner/ 

Addressed, 

‘Mr. Gilbert Glossin^ etc. 

‘Hazlewood House, 

‘Tuesday.’ 

‘Soh!’ thought Mr. Glossin, ‘here is one finger in at least, 
and that I will make the means of introducing my whole 
hand. But I must first get clear of this wretched young fel- 
low. I think I can manage Sir Robert. He is dull and 
pompous, and will be alike disposed to listen to my sugges- 
tions upon the law of the case and to assume the credit of j 
acting upon them as his own proper motion. So I shall have j 
the advantage of being the real magistrate without the odium 
of responsibility.’ 

As he cherished these hopes and expectations, the carriage 
approached Hazlewood House through a noble avenue of old 
oaks, which shrouded the ancient abbey-resembling building 
so called. It was a large edifice, built at different periods, 
part having actually been a priory, upon the suppression of 
which, in the time of Queen Mary, the first of the family had 
obtained a gift of the house and surrounding lands from the 
crown. It was pleasantly situated in a large deer-park, on 
the banks of the river we have before mentioned. The 
scenery around was of a dark, solemn, and somewhat melan- 
choly cast, according well with the architecture of the house. 
Everything appeared to be kept in the highest possible order, 
and announced the opulence and rank of the proprietor. 

As Mr. Glossin’s carriage stopped at the door of the hall. 
Sir Robert reconnoitred the new vehicle from the windows. 
According to his aristocratic feelings, there was a degree of | 
presumption in this novus homo, this Mr. Gilbert Glossin, late ' 

writer in , presuming to set up such an accommodation at 

all; but his wrath was mitigated when he observed that the 
mantle upon the panels only bore a plain cipher of G. G. This 
apparent modesty was indeed solely owing to the delay of Mr. 
Gumming of the Lyon Office, who, being at that time engaged 
in discovering and matriculating the arms of two commis- 
saries from North America, three English-Irish peers, and 
two great Jamaica traders, had been more slow than usual in ' 

302 




GUY MANNERING 


finding an escutcheon for the new Laird of Ellangowan. But 
r his delay told to the advantage of Glossin in the opinion of 
the proud Baronet. 


1. 


While the officers of justice detained their prisoner in a 
sort of steward’s room, Mr. Glossin was ushered into what 
was called the great oak-parlour, a long room, panelled with 
well-varnished wainscot, and adorned with the grim portraits 
of Sir Robert Hazlewood’s ancestry. The visitor, who had 
no internal consciousness of worth to balance that of mean- 
ness of birth, felt his inferiority, and by the depth of his bow 
and the obsequiousness of his demeanour showed that the 
Laird of Ellangowan was sunk for the time in the old and 
submissive habits of the quondam retainer of the law. He 
would have persuaded himself, indeed, that he was only hu- 
mouring the pride of the old Baronet for the purpose of turn- 
ing it to his own advantage, but his feelings were of a mingled 
nature, and he felt the influence of those very prejudices 
which he pretended to flatter. 

The Baronet received his visitor with that condescending 
parade which was meant at once to assert his own vast su- 
periority, and to show the generosity and courtesy with 
which he could waive it, and descend to the level of ordinary 
conversation with ordinary men. He thanked Glossin for 
his attention to a matter in which ‘young Hazlewood’ was so 
intimately concerned, and, pointing to his family pictures, 
observed, with a gracious smile, ‘Indeed, these venerable 
gentlemen, Mr. Glossin, are as much obliged as I am in this 
case for the labour, pains, care, and trouble which you have 
taken in their behalf ; and I have no doubt, were they capable 
of expressing themselves, would join me, sir, in thanking you 
for the favour you have conferred upon the house of Hazle- 
wood by taking care, and trouble, sir, and interest in behalf 
of the young gentleman who is to continue their name and 
family.’ 

Thrice bowed Glossin, and each time more profoundly than 
before; once in honour of the knight who stood upright be- 
fore him, once in respect to the quiet personages who pa- 
tiently hung upon the wainscot, and a third time in deference 
to the young gentleman who was to carry on the name and 
family. Roturier as he was. Sir Robert was gratified by the 


303 


GUY MANNERING 


homage which he rendered, and proceeded in a tone of gra- 
cious familiarity : ‘And now, Mr. Glossin, my exceeding j 
good friend, you must allow me to avail myself of your 
knowledge of law in our proceedings in this matter. I am ; 
not much in the habit of acting as a justice of the peace; it : 
suits better with other gentlemen, whose domestic and family 
affairs require less constant superintendence, attention, and 
management than mine.’ 

Of course, whatever small assistance Mr. Glossin could 
render was entirely at Sir Robert Hazlewood’s service; but, 
as Sir Robert Hazlewood’s name stood high in the list of the 
faculty, the said Mr. Glossin could not presume to hope it 
could be either necessary or useful. 

‘Why, my good sir, you will understand me only to mean | 
that I am something deficient in the practical knowledge of 
the ordinary details of justice business. I was indeed edu- 
cated to the bar, and might boast perhaps at one time that I 
had made some progress in the speculative and abstract and 
abstruse doctrines of our municipal code; but there is in the 
present day so little opportunity of a man of family and 
fortune rising to that eminence at the bar which is attained 
by adventurers who are as willing to plead for John a’ Nokes 
as for the first noble of the land, that I was really early dis- 
gusted with practice. The first case, indeed, which was laid 
on my table quite sickened me : it respected a bargain, sir, of 
tallow between a butcher and a candle-maker ; and I found it 
was expected that I should grease my mouth not only with 
their vulgar names, but with all the technical terms and 
phrases and peculiar language of their dirty arts. Upon my 
honour, my good sir, I have never been able to bear the smell 
of a tallow-candle since.’ 

Pitying, as seemed to be expected, the mean use to which 
the Baronet’s faculties had been degraded on this melancholy 
occasion, Mr. Glossin offered to officiate as clerk or assessor, 
or in any way in which he could be most useful. ‘And with 
a view to possessing you of the whole business, and in the 
first place, there will, I believe, be no difficulty in proving the 
main fact, that this was the person who fired the unhappy 
piece. Should he deny it, it can be proved by Mr. Hazle- 
wood, I presume?’ 


304 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Young Hazlewood is not at home to-day, Mr. Glossin.' 

‘But we can have the oath of the servant who attended 
him,’ said the ready Mr. Glossin ; ‘indeed, I hardly think the 
fact will be disputed. I am more apprehensive that, from 
the too favourable and indulgent manner in which I have un- 
derstood that Mr. Hazlewood has been pleased to represent 
the business, the assault may be considered as accidental, and 
the injury as unintentional, so that the fellow may be imme- 
diately set at liberty to do more mischief.’ 

‘I have not the honour to know the gentleman who now 
holds the office of king’s advocate,’ replied Sir Robert, grave- 
ly ; ‘but I presume, sir — nay, I am confident, that he will con- 
sider the mere fact of having wounded young Hazlewood of 
Hazlewood, even by inadvertency, to take the matter in its 
mildest and gentlest, and in its most favourable and improb- 
able, light, as a crime which will be too easily atoned by im- 
prisonment, and as more deserving of deportation.’ 

‘Indeed, Sir Robert,’ said his assenting brother in justice, 
‘I am entirely of your opinion ; but, I don’t know how it is, I 
have observed the Edinburgh gentlemen of the bar, and even 
the officers of the crown, pique themselves upon an indiffer- 
ent administration of justice, without respect to rank and 
family; and I should fear ’ 

‘How, sir, without respect to rank and family? Will you 
tell me that doctrine can be held by men of birth and legal 
education? No, sir; if a trifle stolen in the street is termed 
mere pickery, but is elevated into sacrilege if the crime be 
committed in a church, so, according to the just gradations 
of society, the guilt of an injury is enhanced by the rank 
of the person to whom it is offered, done, or perpetrated, 
sir.’ 

Glossin bowed low to this declaration ex cathedra, but ob- 
served, that in case of the very worst, and of such unnatural 
doctrines being actually held as he had already hinted, ‘the 
law had another hold on Mr. Vanbeest Brown.’ 

‘Vanbeest Brown ! is that the fellow’s name ? Good God ! 
that young Hazlewood of Hazlewood should have had his life 
endangered, the clavicle of his right shoulder considerably 
lacerated and dislodged, several large drops of slugs depos- 
ited in the acromion process, as the account of the family 

20 I 305 


GUY MANNERING 


surgeon expressly bears, and all by an obscure wretch named 
Vanbeest Brown!' 

‘Why, really. Sir Robert, it is a thing which one can hardly 
bear to think of; but, begging ten thousand pardons for re- 
suming what I was about to say, a person of the same name 
is, as appears from these papers (producing Dirk Hatter- 
aick's pocket-book), mate to the smuggling vessel who of- 
fered such violence at Woodbourne, and I have no doubt that 
this is the same individual; which, however, your acute dis- 
crimination will easily be able to ascertain.’ 

‘The same, my good sir, he must assuredly be ; it would be 
injustice even to the meanest of the people to suppose 
there could be found among them two persons doomed to 
bear a name so shocking to one’s ears as this of Vanbeest 
Brown.’ 

‘True, Sir Robert; most unquestionably; there cannot be 
a shadow of doubt of it. But you see farther, that this cir- 
cumstance accounts for the man’s desperate conduct. You, 
Sir Robert, will discover the motive for his crime — you, I 
say, will discover it without difficulty on your giving your 
mind to the examination ; for my part, I cannot help suspect- 
ing the moving spring to have been revenge for the gallantry 
with which Mr. Hazlewood, with all the spirit of his re- 
nowned forefathers, defended the house at Woodbourne 
against this villain and his lawless companions.’ 

‘I will inquire into it, my good sir,’ said the learned Baro- 
net. ‘Yet even now I venture to conjecture that I shall adopt 
the solution or explanation of this riddle, enigma, or mys- 
tery which you have in some degree thus started. Yes! 
revenge it must be; and, good heaven! entertained by and 
against whom ? entertained, fostered, cherished against young 
Hazlewood of Hazlewood, and in part carried into effect, 
executed, and implemented by the hand of Vanbeest Brown ! 
These are dreadful days indeed, my worthy neighbour (this 
epithet indicated a rapid advance in the Baronet’s good 
graces) — days when the bulwarks of society are shaken to 
their mighty base, and that rank which forms, as it were, its 
highest grace and ornament is mingled and confused with the 
viler parts of the architecture. O, my good Mr. Gilbert 
Glossin, in my time, sir, the use of swords and pistols, and 

306 


GUY MANNERING 


such honourable arms, was reserved by the nobility and gen- 
try to themselves, and the disputes of the vulgar were decided 
by the weapons which nature had given them, or by cudgels 
cut, broken, or hewed out of the next wood. But now, sir, 
the clouted shoe of the peasant galls the kibe of the courtier. 
The lower ranks have their quarrels, sir, and their points of 
I honour, and their revenges, which they must bring, forsooth, 

I to fatal arbitrament. But well, well! it will last my time. 

Let us have in this fellow, this Vanbeest Brown, and make 
an end of him, at least for the present.’ 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


’Twas he 

Gave heat unto the injury, which returned, 

Like a petard ill lighted, into the bosom 
Of him gave fire to’t. Yet I hope his hurt 
Is not so dangerous but he may recover. 

Fair Maid of the Inn. 

HE prisoner was now presented before the two wor- 



JL shipful magistrates. Glossin, partly from some com- 
punctious visitings, and partly out of his cautious resolution 
to suffer Sir Robert Hazlewood to be the ostensible manager 
of the whole examination, looked down upon the table, .and 
busied himself with reading and arranging the papers re- 
specting the business, only now and then throwing in a skil- 
ful catchword as prompter, when he saw the principal, and 
apparently most active, magistrate stand in need of a hint. 
As for Sir Robert Hazlewood, he assumed on his part a 
happy mixture of the austerity of the justice combined with 
the display of personal dignity appertaining to the baronet of 
ancient family. 

There, constables, let him stand there at the bottom of 
the table. Be so good as look me in the face, sir, and raise 
your voice as you answer the questions which I am going to 
put to you.’ 

‘May I beg, in the first place, to know, sir, who it is that 
takes the trouble to interrogate me?’ said the prisoner; ‘for 


307 


GUY MANNERING 


the honest gentlemen who have brought me here have not 
been pleased to furnish any information upon that point/ 

‘And pray, sir,’ answered Sir Robert, ‘what has my name 
and quality to do with the questions I am about to ask you ?’ 

‘Nothing, perhaps, sir,’ replied Bertram; ‘but it may con- 
siderably influence my disposition to answer them.’ 

‘Why, then, sir, you will please to be informed that you 
are in presence of Sir Robert Hazlewood of Hazlewood, and 
another justice of peace for this county — that’s all.’ 

As this intimation produced a less stunning effect upon 
the prisoner than he had anticipated. Sir Robert proceeded 
in his investigation with an increasing dislike to the object 
of it. 

‘Is your name Vanbeest Brown, sir?’ 

‘It is,’ answered the prisoner. 

‘So far well; and how are we to design you farther, sir?’ 
demanded the Justice. 

‘Captain in his Majesty’s regiment of horse,’ answered 

Bertram. 

The Baronet’s ears received this intimation with astonish- 
ment; but he was refreshed in courage by an incredulous 
look from Glossin, and by hearing him gently utter a sort of 
inter jectional whistle, in a note of surprise and contempt. T 
believe, my friend,’ said Sir Robert, ‘we shall find for you, 
before we part, a more humble title.’ 

‘If you do, sir,’ replied his prisoner, ‘I shall willingly sub- 
mit to any punishment which such an imposture shall be 
thought to deserve.’ 

‘Well, sir, we shall see,’ continued Sir Robert. ‘Do you 
know young Hazlewood of Hazlewood ?’ 

‘I never saw the gentleman who I am informed bears that 
name excepting once, and I regret that it was under very 
unpleasant circumstances.’ 

‘You mean to acknowledge, then,’ said the Baronet, ‘that 
you inflicted upon young Hazlewood of Hazlewood that 
wound which endangered his life, considerably lacerated the 
clavicle of his right shoulder, and deposited, as the family 
surgeon declares, several large drops or slugs in the acromion 
process ?’ 

‘Why, sir,’ replied Bertram, ‘I can only say I am equally 
308 


GUY MANNERING 


ignorant of and sorry for the extent of the damage which the 
young gentleman has sustained. I met him in a narrow path, 
walking with two ladies and a servant, and before I could 
either pass them or address them, this young Hazlewood took 
his gun from his servant, presented it against my body, and 
commanded me in the most haughty tone to stand back. I 
was neither inclined to submit to his authority nor to leave 
him in possession of the means to injure me, which he seemed 
disposed to use with such rashness. I therefore closed with 
him for the purpose of disarming him; and, just as I had 
nearly effected my purpose, the piece went off accidentally, 
and, to my regret then and since, inflicted upon the young 
gentleman a severer chastisement than I desired, though I am 
glad to understand it is like to prove no more than his un- 
provoked folly deserved.’ 

"And so, sir,’ said the Baronet, every feature swoln with 
offended dignity, ‘you, sir, admit, sir, that it was your pur- 
pose, sir, and your intention, sir, and the real jet and object 
of your assault, sir, to disarm young Hazlewood of Hazle- 
wood of his gun, sir, or his fowling-piece, or his fuzee, or 
whatever you please to call it, sir, upon the king’s highway, 
sir ? I think this will do, my worthy neighbour ! I think he 
should stand committed?’ 

‘You are by far the best judge. Sir Robert,’ said Glossin, 
in his most insinuating tone ; ‘but if I might presume to hint, 
there was something about these smugglers.’ 

‘Very true, good sir. And besides, sir, you, Vanbeest 
Brown, who call yourself a captain in his Majesty’s service, 
are no better or worse than a rascally mate of a smug- 
gler !’ 

‘Really, sir,’ said Bertram, ‘you are an old gentleman, and 
acting under some strange delusion, otherwise I should be 
very angry with you.’ 

‘Old gentleman, sir ! strange delusion, sir !’ said Sir Robert, 

colouring with indignation. ‘I protest and declare Why, 

sir, have you any papers or letters that can establish your 
pretended rank and estate and commission?’ 

‘None at present, sir,’ answered Bertram; ‘but in the re- 
turn of a post or two ’ 

‘And how do you, sir,’ continued the Baronet, ‘if you are a 

309 


GUY MANNERING 


captain in his Majesty’s service — how do you chance to be 
travelling in Scotland without letters of introduction, creden- 
tials, baggage, or anything belonging to your pretended rank, 
estate, and condition, as I said before?’ 

‘Sir,’ replied the prisoner, ‘I had the misfortune to be 
robbed of my clothes and baggage.’ 

‘Oho! then you are the gentleman who took a post-chaise 

from to Kippletringan, gaye the boy the slip on the 

road, and sent two of your accomplices to beat the boy and 
bring away the baggage?’ 

‘I was, sir, in a carriage, as you describe, was obliged to 
alight in the snow, and lost my way endeavouring to find the 
road to Kippletringan. The landlady of the inn will inform 
you that on my arrival there the next day, my first inquiries 
were after the boy.’ 

‘Then give me leave to ask where you spent the night, 
not in the snow, I presume? You do not suppose that will 
pass, or be taken, credited, and received ?’ 

‘I beg leave,’ said Bertram,' his recollection turning to the 
gipsy female and to the promise he had given her — ‘I beg 
leave to decline answering that question.’ 

‘I thought as much,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Were you not dur- 
ing that night in the ruins of Derncleugh? — in the ruins of 
Derncleugh, sir ?’ 

‘I have told you that I do not intend answering that ques- 
tion,’ replied Bertram. 

‘Well, sir, then you will stand committed, sir,’ said Sir 
Robert, ‘and be sent to prison, sir, that’s all, sir. Have the 
goodness to look at these papers; are you the Vanbeest 
Brown who is there mentioned ?’ 

It must be remarked that Glossin had shuffled among the 
papers some writings which really did belong to Bertram, 
and which had been found by the officers in the old vault 
where his portmanteau was ransacked. 

‘Some of these papers,’ said Bertram, looking over them, 
‘are mine, and were in my portfolio when it was stolen from 
the post-chaise. They are memoranda of little value, and, I 
see, have been carefully selected as affording no evidence of 
my rank or character, which many of the other papers would 
have established fully. They are mingled with ship-accounts 

310 


GUY MANNERING 


and other papers, belonging apparently to a person of the 
same name/ 

‘And wilt thou attempt to persuade me, friend,^ demanded 
Sir Robert, ‘that there, are two persons in this country at the 
same time of thy very uncommon and awkwardly sounding 
name ?’ 

‘I really do not see, sir, as there is an old Hazlewood and a 
young Hazlewood, why there should not be an old and a 
young Vanbeest Brown. And, to speak seriously, I was edu- 
cated in Holland, and I know that this name, however un- 
couth it may sound in British ears ' 

Glossin, conscious that the prisoner was now about to enter 
upon dangerous ground, interfered, though the interruption 
was unnecessary, for the purpose of diverting the attention 
of Sir Robert Hazlewood, who was speechless and motionless 
with indignation at the presumptuous comparison implied in 
Bertram’s last speech. In fact, the veins of his throat and of 
his temples swelled almost to bursting, and he sat with the 
indignant and disconcerted air of one who has received a 
mortal insult from a quarter to which he holds it unmeet and 
indecorous to make any reply. While, with a bent brow and 
an angry eye, he was drawing in his breath slowly and ma- 
jestically, and puffing it forth again with deep and solemn 
exertion, Glossin stepped in to his assistance. ‘I should think 
now. Sir Robert, with great submission, that this matter may 
be closed. One of the constables, besides the pregnant proof 
already produced, offers to make oath that the sword of 
which the prisoner was this morning deprived (while using 
it, by the way, in resistance to a legal warrant) was a cutlass 
taken from him in a fray between the officers and smugglers 
just previous to their attack upon Woodbourne. And yet,’ 
he added, ‘I would not have you form any rash construction 
upon that subject; perhaps the young man can explain how 
he came by that weapon.’ 

‘That question, sir,’ said Bertram, T shall also leave un- 
answered.’ 

‘There is yet another circumstance to be inquired into, al- 
ways under Sir Robert’s leave,’ insinuated Glossin. ‘This 
prisoner put into the hands of Mrs. Mac-Candlish of Kipple- 
tringan a parcel containing a variety of gold coins and val- 

311 


GUY MANNERING 


uable articles of different kinds. Perhaps, Sir Robert, you 
might think it right to ask how he came by property of a de- 
scription which seldom occurs ?’ 

‘You, sir, Mr. Vanbeest Brown, sir, you hear the question, 
sir, which the gentleman asks you?’ 

‘I have particular reasons for declining to answer that 
question,’ answered Bertram. 

‘Then I am afraid, sir,’ said Glossin, who had 
brought matters to the point he desired to reach, ‘our duty 
must lay us under the necessity to sign a warrant of com- 
mittal.’ 

‘As you please, sir,’ answered Bertram; ‘take care, how- 
ever, what you do. Observe that I inform you that I am a 

captain in his Majesty’s regiment, and that I am just 

returned from India, affd therefore cannot possibly be con- 
nected with any of those contraband traders you talk of ; that 
my lieutenant-colonel is now at Nottingham, the major, with 
the officers of my corps, at Kingston-upon-Thames. I offer 
before you both to submit to any degree of ignominy if, 
within the return of the Kingston and Nottingham posts, I 
am not able to establish these points. Or you may write to 
the agent for the regiment if you please, and ’ 

‘This is all very well, sir,’ said Glossin, beginning to fear 
lest the firm expostulation of Bertram should make some 
impression on Sir Robert, who would almost have died of 
shame at committing such a solecism as sending a captain of 
horse to jail — ‘this is all very well, sir; but is there no person 
nearer whom you could refer to?’ 

‘There are only two persons in this country who know any- 
thing of me,’ replied the prisoner. ‘One is a plain Liddesdale 
sheep-farmer, called Dinmont of Charlie’s Hope; but he 
knows nothing more of me than what I told him, and what I 
now tell you.’ 

‘Why, this is well enough. Sir Robert!’ said Glossin. ‘I 
suppose he would bring forward this thick-skulled fellow to 
give his oath of credulity, Sir Robert, ha, ha, ha I’ 

‘And what is your other witness, friend ?’ said the Baronet. 

‘A gentleman whom I have some reluctance to rnention be- 
cause of certain private reasons, but under whose command 
I served some time in India, and who is too much a man of 

312 


GUY MANNERING 


honour to refuse his testimony to my character as a soldier 
and gentleman/ 

‘And who is this doughty witness, pray, sir ?’ said Sir Rob- 
ert, ‘some half-pay quartermaster or sergeant, I suppose?’ 

‘Colonel Guy Mannering, late of the regiment, in 

which, as I told you, I have a troop/ 

‘Colonel Guy Mannering!’ thought Glossin, ‘who the devil 
could have guessed this?’ 

‘Colonel Guy Mannering?’ echoed the Baronet, consider- 
ably shaken in his opinion. ‘My good sir,’ apart to Glossin, 
‘the young man with a dreadfully plebeian name and a good 
deal of modest assurance has nevertheless something of the 
tone and manners and feeling of a gentleman, of one at least 
who has lived in good society ; they do give commissions very 
loosely and carelessly and inaccurately in India. I think we 
had better pause till Colonel Mannering shall return; he is 
now, I believe, at Edinburgh.’ 

‘You are in every respect the best judge. Sir Robert,’ an- 
swered Glossin — ‘in every possible respect. I would only 
submit to you that we are certainly hardly entitled to dismiss 
this man upon an assertion which cannot be satisfied by proof, 
and that we shall incur a heavy responsibility by detaining 
him in private custody, without committing him to a public 
jail. Undoubtedly, however, you are the best judge. Sir 
Robert; and I would only say, for my own part, that I very 
lately incurred severe censure by detaining a person in a 
place which I thought perfectly secure, and under the custody 
of the proper officers. The man made his escape, and I have 
no doubt my own character for attention and circumspection 
as a magistrate has in some degree suffered. I only hint 
this : I will join in any step you. Sir Robert, think most ad- 
visable/ But Mr. Glossin was well aware that such a hint 
was of power sufficient to decide the motions of his self- 
important but not self-relying colleague. So that Sir Robert 
Hazlewood summed up the business in the following speech, 
which proceeded partly upon the supposition of the prisoner 
being really a gentleman, and partly upon the opposite belief 
that he was a villain and an assassin : — 

‘Sir, Mr. Vanbeest Brown — I would call you Captain 
Brown if there was the least reason or cause or grounds to 

313 


GUY( MANNERING 


suppose that you are a captain, or had a troop in the very re- 
spectable corps you mention, or indeed in any other corps in 
his Majesty’s service, as to which circumstance I beg to be 
understood to give no positive, settled, or unalterable judg- 
ment, declaration, or opinion, — I say, therefore, sir, Mr. 
Brown, we have determined, considering the unpleasant pre- 
dicament in which you now stand, having been robbed, as 
you say, an assertion as to which I suspend my opinion, and 
being possessed of much and valuable treasure, and of a 
brass-handled cutlass besides, as to your obtaining which you 
will favour us with no explanation, — I say, sir, we have de- 
termined and resolved and made up our minds to commit you 
to jail, or rather to assign you an apartment therein, in order 
that you may be forthcoming upon Colonel Mannering’s re- 
turn from Edinburgh.’ 

‘With humble submission. Sir Robert,’ said Glossin, ‘may I 
inquire if it is your purpose to send this young gentleman to 
the county jail? For if that were not your settled intention, 
I would take the liberty to hint that there would be less hard- 
ship in sending him to the bridewell at Portanferry, where he 
can be secured without public exposure, a circumstance 
which, on the mere chance of his story being really true, is 
much to be avoided.’ 

‘Why, there is a guard of soldiers at Portanferry, to be 
sure, for protection of the goods in the custom-house; and 
upon the whole, considering everything, and that the place is 
comfortable for such a place, I say, all things considered, we 
will commit this person, I would rather say authorise him to 
be detained, in the workhouse at Portanferry.’ 

The warrant was made out accordingly, and Bertram was 
informed he was next morning to be removed to his place of 
confinement, as Sir Robert had determined he should not be 
taken there under cloud of night, for fear of rescue. He 
was during the interval to be detained at Hazlewood House. 

Tt cannot be so hard as my imprisonment by the looties in 
India,’ he thought ‘nor can it last so long. But the deuce 
take the old formal dunderhead, and his more sly associate, 
who speaks always under his breath ; they cannot understand 
a plain man’s story when it is told them.’ 

In the meanwhile Glossin took leave of the Baronet with 

3H 


GUY MANNERING 


a thousand respectful bows and cringing apologies for not 
accepting his invitation to dinner, and venturing to hope he 
might be pardoned in paying his respects to him, Lady Hazle- 
wood, and young Mr. Hazlewood on some future occasion. 

‘Certainly, sir,’ said the Baronet, very graciously. ‘I hope 
our family was never at any time deficient in civility to our 
neighbours; and when I ride that way, good Mr. Glossin, I 
will convince you of this by calling at your house as familiar- 
ly as is consistent — that is, as can be hoped or expected.’ 

‘And now,’ said Glossin to himself, ‘to find Dirk Hatteraick* 
and his people, to get the guard sent off from the custom- 
house; and then for the grand cast of the dice. Everything 
must depend upon speed. How lucky that Mannering has 
betaken himself to Edinburgh ! His knowledge of this young 
fellow is a most perilous addition to my dangers.’ Here he 
suffered his horse to slacken his pace. YVhat if I should try 
to compound with the heir? It’s likely he might be brought 
to pay a round sum for restitution, and I could give up Hat- 
teraick. But no, no, no ! there were too many eyes on me — 
Hatteraick himself, and the gipsy sailor, and that old hag. 
No, no ! I must stick to my original plan/ And with that he 
struck his spurs against his horse’s flanks, and rode forward 
at a hard trot to put his machines in motion. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

A prison is a house of care, 

A place where none can thrive, 

A touchstone true to try a friend, 

A grave for one alive. 

Sometimes a place of right. 

Sometimes a place of wrong, 

Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, 

And honest men among. 

Inscription on Edinburgh Tolbooth. 

E arly on the following morning the carriage which had 
brought Bertram to Hazlewood House was, with his 
two silent and surly attendants, appointed to convey him to 
his place of confinement at Portanferry. This building ad- 
joined to the custom-house established at that little seaport, 

315 


GUY MANNERING 


and both were situated so close to the sea-beach that it was 
necessary to defend the back part with a large and strong 
rampart or bulwark of huge stones, disposed in a slope 
towards the surf, which often reached and broke upon them. 
The front was surrounded by a high wall, inclosing a small 
courtyard, withm which the miserable inmates of the man- 
sion were occasionally permitted to take exercise and air. 
The prison was used as a house of correction, and sometimes 
as a chapel of ease to the county jail, which was old, and far 
from being conveniently situated with reference to the Kip- 
pletringan district of the county. Mac-Guffog, the officer by 
whom Bertram had at first been apprehended, and who was 
now in attendance upon him, was keeper of this palace of 
little-ease. He caused the carriage to be drawn close up to 
the outer gate, and got out himself to summon the warders. 
The noise of his rap alarmed some twenty or thirty ragged 
boys, who left off sailing their mimic sloops and frigates in 
the little pools of salt water left by the receding tide, and 
hastily crowded round the vehicle to see what luckless being 
was to be delivered to the prison-house out of ‘Glossin’s braw 
new carriage.’ The door of the courtyard, after the heavy 
clanking of many chains and bars, was opened by Mrs. Mac- 
Guffog — an awful spectacle, being a woman for strength and 
resolution capable of maintaining order among her riotous 
inmates, and of administering the discipline of the house, as 
it was called, during the absence of her husband, or when he 
chanced to have taken an overdose of the creature. The 
growling voice of this Amazon, which rivalled in harshness 
the crashing music of her own bolts and bars, soon dispersed 
in every direction the little varlets who had thronged around 
her threshold, and she next addressed her amiable help- 
mate : 

'Be sharp, man, and get out the swell, canst thou not ?’ 

‘Hold your tongue and be d — d, you ’ answered her 

loving husband, with two additional epithets of great energy, 
but which we beg to be excused from repeating. Then ad- 
dressing Bertram — ‘Come, will you get out, my handy lad, or 
must we lend you a lift?’ 

Bertram came out of the carriage, and, collared by the con- 
stable as he put his foot on the ground, was dragged, though 

316 


GUY MANNERING 


he offered no resistance, across the threshold, amid the con- 
tinued shouts of the little sansculottes, who looked on at such 
distance as their fear of Mrs. Mac-Guffog permitted. The 
instant his foot had crossed the fatal porch, the portress 
again dropped her chains, drew her bolts, and, turning with 
both hands an immense key, took it from the lock and thrust 
it into a huge side-pocket of red cloth. 

Bertram was now in the small court already mentioned. 
Two or three prisoners were sauntering along the pavement, 
and deriving as it were a feeling of refreshment from the 
momentary glimpse with which the opening door had ex- 
tended their prospect to the other side of a dirty street. Nor 
can this be thought surprising, when it is considered that, un- 
less on such occasions, their view was confined to the grated 
front of their prison, the high and sable walls of the court- 
yard, the heaven above them, and the pavement beneath their 
feet — a sameness of landscape which, to use the poet’s ex- 
pression, ‘lay like a load on the wearied eye,’ and had fostered 
in some a callous and dull misanthropy, in others that sick- 
ness of the heart which induces him who is immured already 
in a living grave to wish for a sepulchre yet more calm and 
sequestered. 

Mac-Guffog, when they entered the courtyard, suffered 
Bertram to pause for a minute and look upon his companions 
in affliction. When he had cast his eye around on faces on 
which guilt and despondence and low excess had fixed thei^* 
stigma — upon the spendthrift, and the swindler, and the thief, 
the bankrupt debtor, the ‘moping idiot, and the madman gay,’ 
whom a paltry spirit of economy congregated to share this 
dismal habitation, he felt his heart recoil with inexpressibU 
loathing from enduring the contamination of their society 
even for a moment. 

‘I hope, sir,’ he said to the keeper, ‘you intend to assign me 
a place of confinement apart?’ 

‘And what should I be the better of that ?’ 

‘Why, sir, I can but be detained here a day or two, and it 
would be very disagreeable to me to mix in the sort of com- 
pany this place affords.’ 

‘And what do I care for that ?’ 

‘Why, then, sir, to speak to your feelings,’ said Bertram, ‘I 

317 


GUY MANNERING 


shall be willing to make you a handsome compliment for this 
indulgence/ 

‘Ay, but when, Captain? when and how? that’s the ques- 
tion, or rather the twa questions,’ said the jailor. 

‘When I am delivered, and get my remittances from Eng- 
land,’ answered the prisoner. 

Mac-Guffog shook his head incredulously. 

‘Why, friend, you do not pretend to believe that I am really 
a malefactor?’ said Bertram. 

‘Why, I no ken,’ said the fellow; ‘but if you are on the 
account, ye’re nae sharp ane, that’s the daylight o’t.’ 

‘And why do you say I am no sharp one?’ 

‘Why, wha but a crack-brained greenhorn wad hae let them 
keep up the siller that ye left at the Gordon Arms?’ said the 
constable. ‘Deil fetch me, but I wad have had it out o’ their 
wames! Ye had nae right to be strippit o’ your money and 
sent to jail without a mark to pay your fees; they might have 
keepit the rest o’ the articles for evidence. But why, for a 
blind bottle-head, did not ye ask the guineas? and I kept 
winking and nodding a’ the time, and the donnert deevil wad 
never ance look my way !’ 

‘Well, sir,’ replied Bertram, ‘if I have a title to have that 
property delivered up to me, I shall apply for it; and there 
is a good deal more than enough to pay any demand you can 
set up.’ 

‘I dinna ken a bit about that,’ said Mac-Guffog; *ye may 
be here lang eneugh. And then the gieing credit maun be 
considered in the fees. But, however, as ye do seem to be a 
chap by common, though my wife. says I lose by my good- 
nature, if ye gie me an order for my fees upon that money 
I daresay Glossin will make it forthcoming; I ken something 
about an escape from Ellangowan. Ay, ay, he’ll be glad to 
carry me through, and be neighbour-like.’ 

‘Well, sir,’ replied Bertram, ‘if I am not furnished in a day 
or two otherwise, you shall have such an order.’ 

‘Weel, weel, then ye shall be put up like a prince,’ said 
Mac-Guffog. ‘But mark ye me, friend, that we may have 
nae collieshangie afterhend, these are the fees that I always 
charge a swell that must have his lib-ken to himsell : — Thirty 
shillings a-week for lodgings, and a guinea for garnish ; half- 

318 


GUY MANNERING 


a-guinea a-week for a single bed ; and I dinna get the whole 
of it, for I must gie half-a-crown out of it to Donald Laider 
that’s in for sheep-stealing, that should sleep with you by 
rule, and he’ll expect clean strae, and maybe some whisky 
beside. So I make little upon that.’ 

‘Well, sir, go on.’ 

‘Then for meat and liquor, ye may have the best, and I 
never charge abune twenty per cent ower tavern price for 
pleasing a gentleman that way; and that’s little eneugh for 
sending in and sending out, and wearing the lassie’s shoon 

out. And then if ye’re dowie I will sit wi’ you a gliff in the 

evening mysell, man, and help ye out wi’ your bottle. I have 
drank mony a glass wi’ Glossin, man, that did you up, though 
he’s a justice now. And then I’se warrant ye’ll be for fire 
thir cauld nights, or if ye want candle, that’s an expensive 
article, for it’s against the rules. And now I’ve tell’d ye 
the head articles of the charge, and I dinna think there’s 
muckle mair, though there will aye be some odd expenses 
ower and abune.’ 

‘Well, sir, I must trust to your conscience, if ever you hap- 
I pened to hear of such a thing; I cannot help myself.’ 

I ‘Na, na, sir,’ answered the cautious jailor, ‘I’ll no permit 

I you to be saying that. I’m forcing naething upon ye; an 

' ye dinna like the price, ye needna take the article. I force no 
man ; I was only explaining what civility was. But if ye like 
to take the common run of the house, it’s a’ ane to me ; I’ll be 
saved trouble, that’s a’.’ 

‘Nay, my friend, I have, as I suppose you may easily 
guess, no inclination to dispute your terms upon such a pen- 
alty,’ answered Bertram. ‘Come, show me where I am to be, 
for I would fain be alone for a little while.’ 

‘Ay, ay, come along then. Captain,’ said the fellow, with a 
contortion of visage which he intended to be a smile ; ‘and I’ll 
tell you now — to show you that I have a conscience, as ye 
ca’t — d — n me if I charge ye abune sixpence a-day for the 
freedom o’ the court, and ye may walk in’t very near three 
hours a-day, and play at pitch-and-toss and hand ba’ and 
what not.’ 

With this gracious promise, he ushered Bertram into the 
house, and showed him up a steep and narrow stone stair- 

319 


GUY MANNERING 


case, at the top of which was a strong door, clenched with 
iron and studded with nails. Beyond this door was a nar- 
row passage or gallery, having three cells on each side, 
wretched vaults, with iron bed-frames and straw mattresses. 
But at the farther end was a small apartment of rather a 
more decent appearance, that is, having less the air of a place 
of confinement, since, unless for the large lock and chain 
upon the door, and the crossed and ponderous stanchions 
upon the window, it rather resembled the ‘worst inn’s worst 
room.’ It was designed as a sort of infirmary for prisoners 
whose state of health required some indulgence; and, in fact, 
Donald Laider, Bertram’s destined chum, had been just 
dragged out of one of the two beds which it contained, to try 
whether clean straw and whisky might not have a better 
chance to cure his intermitting fever. This process of ejec- 
tion had been carried into force by Mrs. Mac-Guflfog while 
her husband parleyed with Bertram in the courtyard, that 
good lady having a distinct presentiment of the manner in 
which the treaty must necessarily terminate. Apparently the 
expulsion had not taken place without some application of 
the strong hand, for one of the bed-posts of a sort of tent- 
bed was broken down, so that the tester and curtains hung 
forward into the middle of the narrow chamber, like the 
banner of a chieftain half-sinking amid the confusion of a 
combat. 

‘Never mind that being out o’ sorts. Captain,’ said Mrs. 
Mac-Guffog, who now followed them into the room; then, 
turning her back to the prisoner, with as much delicacy as 
the action admitted, she whipped from her knee her ferret 
garter, and applied it to splicing and fastening the broken 
bed-post; then used more pins than her apparel could well 
spare to fasten up the bed-curtains in festoons; then shook 
the bed-clothes into something like form ; then flung over all 
a tattered patch-work quilt, and pronounced that things were 
now ‘something purpose-like.’ ‘And there’s your bed. Cap- 
tain,’ pointing to a massy four-posted hulk, which, owing to 
the inequality of the floor, that had sunk considerably (the 
house, though new, having been built by contract), stood on 
three legs, and held the fourth aloft as if pawing the air, and 
in the attitude of advancing like an elephant passant upon 

320 


GUY HANKERING 


the panel of a coach, — 'there’s your bed and the blankets; 
but if ye want sheets, or bowster, or pillow, or ony sort o’ 
nappery for the table, or for your hands, ye’ll hae to speak 
to me about it, for that’s out o’ the gudeman’s line (Mac- 
Guffog had by this time left the room, to avoid, probably, 
any appeal which might be made to him upon this new ex- 
action), and he never engages for ony thing like that.’ 

‘In God’s name7 said Bertram, ‘let me have what is decent, 
and make any charge you please.’ 

‘Aweel, aweel, that’s sune settled ; we’ll no excise you 
neither, though we live sae near the custom-house. And I 
maun see to get you some fire and some dinner too, I’se war- 
rant; but your dinner will be but a puir ane the day, no 
expecting company that would be nice and fashions.’ So 
saying, and in all haste, Mrs. Mac-Guffog fetched a scuttle 
of live coals, and having replenished ‘the rusty grate, uncon- 
scious of a fire’ for months before, she proceeded with un- 
washed hands to arrange the stipulated bed-linen (alas, how 
different from Ailie Dinmont’s!), and, muttering to herself 
as she discharged her task, seemed, in inveterate spleen of 
temper, to grudge even those accommodations for which she 
was to receive payment. At length, however, she departed, 
grumbling between her teeth, that ‘she wad rather lock up a 
haill ward than be fikmg about thae niff-naffy gentles that 
gae sae muckle fash wi’ their fancies.’ 

When she was gone Bertram found himself reduced to the 
alternative of pacing his little apartment for exercise, or gaz- 
ing out upon the sea in such proportions as could be seen 
from the narrow panes of his window, obscured by dirt and 
by close iron bars, or reading over the records of brutal wit 
and blackguardism which despair had scrawled upon the 
half-whitened walls. The sounds were as uncomfortable as 
the objects of sight; the sullen dash of the tide, which was 
now retreating, and the occasional opening and shutting of a 
door, with all its accompaniments of jarring bolts and creak- 
ing hinges, mingling occasionally with the dull monotony of 
the retiring ocean. Sometimes, too, he could hear the hoarse 
growl of the keeper, or the shriller strain of his helpmate, al- 
most always in the tone of discontent, anger, or insolence. 
At other times the large mastiff chained in the courtyard an- 


GUY MANNERING 


swered with furious bark the insults of the idle loiterers who 
made a sport of incensing him. 

At length the tsedium of this weary space was broken by 
the entrance of a dirty-looking serving-wench, who made 
some preparations for dinner by laying a half-dirty cloth 
upon a whole-dirty deal table. A knife and fork, which had 
not been worn out by overcleaning, flanked a cracked delf 
plate ; a nearly empty mustard-pot, placed on one side of the 
table, balanced a salt-cellar, containing an article of a grey- 
ish, or rather a blackish, mixture, upon the other, both of 
stoneware, and bearing too obvious marks of recent service. 
Shortly after the same Hebe brought up a plate of beef-col- 
lops, done in the frying-pan, with a huge allowance of grease 
floating in an ocean of lukewarm water ; and, having added a 
coarse loaf to these savoury viands, she requested to know 
what liquors the gentleman chose to order. The appearance 
of this fare was not very inviting; but Bertram endeavoured 
to mend his commons by ordering wine, which he found tol- 
erably good, and, with the assistance of some indifferent 
cheese, made his dinner chiefly off the brown loaf. When 
his meal was over the girl presented her master’s compli- 
ments, and, if agreeable to the gentleman, he would help him 
to spend the evening. Bertram desired to be excused, and 
begged, instead of this gracious society, that he might be fur- 
nished with paper, pen, ink, and candles. The light appeared 
in the shape of one long broken tallow-candle, inclining over 
a tin candlestick coated with grease; as for the writing ma- 
terials, the prisoner was informed that he might have them 
the next day if he chose to send out to buy them. Bertram 
next desired the maid to procure him a book, and enforced 
his request with a shilling; in consequence of which, after 
long absence, she reappeared with two odd volumes of the 
Newgate Calendar, which she had borrowed from Sam Sil- 
verquill, an idle apprentice, who was imprisoned under a 
charge of forgery. Having laid the books on the table she 
retired, and left Bertram to studies which were not ill adapted 
to his present melancholy situation. 


1322 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XLV. 

But if thou shouldst be dragg’d in scorn 
To yonder ignominious tree, 

Thou shalt not want one faithful friend 
To share the cruel fates’ decree. 

Shenstone. 

P LUNGED in the gloomy reflections which were natur- 
ally excited by his dismal reading and disconsolate situ- 
ation, Bertram for the first time in his life felt himself 
affected with a disposition to low spirits. T have been in 
I worse situations than this too,’ he said; ‘more dangerous, for 
here is no danger; more dismal in prospect, for my present 
confinement must necessarily be short; more intolerable for 
the time, for here, at least, I have fire, food, and shelter. 
Yet, with reading these bloody tales of crime and misery in 
a place so corresponding to the ideas which they excite, and 
in listening to these sad sounds, I feel a stronger disposition 
to melancholy than in my life I ever experienced. But I will 
not give way to it. Begone, thou record of guilt and in- 
famy!’ he said, flinging the book upon the spare bed; ‘a 
Scottish jail shall not break, on the very first day, the spirits 
which have resisted climate, and want, and penury, and dis- 
ease, and imprisonment in a foreign land. I have fought 
many a hard battle with Dame Fortune, and she shall not 
beat me now if I can help it.’ 

Then bending his mind to a strong effort, he endeavoured 
to view his situation in the most favourable light. Delaserre 
must soon be in Scotland ; the certificates from his command- 
ing officer must soon arrive ; nay, if Mannering were first ap- 
plied to, who could say but the effect might be a reconcilia- 
tion between them? He had often observed, and now re- 
membered, that when his former colonel took the part of any 
one, it was never by halves, and that he seemed to love those 
persons most who had lain under obligation to him. In the 
present case a favour, which could be asked with honour and 
granted with readiness, might be the means of reconciling 
them to each other. From this his feelings naturally turned 
towards Julia; and, without very nicely measuring the dis- 

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GUY MANNERING 


tance between a soldier of fortune, who expected that her 
father’s attestation would deliver him from confinement, and 
the heiress of that father's wealth and expectations, he was 
building the gayest castle in the clouds, and varnishing it with 
all the tints of a summer-evening sky, when his labour was 
interrupted by a loud knocking at the outer gate, answered 
by the barking of the gaunt half-starved mastiff which was 
quartered in the courtyard as an addition to the garrison. 
After much scrupulous precaution the gate was opened and 
some person admitted. The house-door was next unbarred, 
unlocked, and unchained, a dog’s feet pattered upstairs in 
great haste, and the animal was heard scratching and whin- 
ing at the door of the room. Next a heavy step was heard 
lumbering up, and Mac-Guffog’s voice in the character of 
pilot — ‘This way, this way; take care of the step; that’s the 
room.’ Bertram’s door was then unbolted, and to his great 
surprise and joy his terrier. Wasp, rushed into the apartment 
and almost devoured him with caresses, followed by the 
massy form of his friend from Charlie’s Hope. 

‘Eh whow! Eh whow!’ ejaculated the honest farmer, as 
he looked round upon his friend’s miserable apartment and 
wretched accommodation — ‘What’s this o’t! what’s this o’t!’ 

‘Just a trick of fortune, my good friend,’ said Bertram, 
rising and shaking him heartily by the hand, ‘that’s all.’ 

‘But what will be done about it ? or what can be done about 
it ?’ said honest Dandie. ‘Is’t for debt, or what is’t for ?’ 

‘Why, it is not for debt,’ answered Bertram; ‘and if you 
have time to sit down. I’ll tell you all I know of the matter 
myself.’ 

‘If I hae time?’ said Dandie, with an accent on the word 
that sounded like a howl of derision. ‘Ou, what the deevil 
am I come here for, man, but just ance errand to see about 
it ? But ye’ll no be the waur o’ something to eat, I trow ; it’s 
getting late at e’en. I tell’d the folk at the Change, where I 
put up Dumple, to send ower my supper here, and the chield 
Mac-Guffog is agreeable to let it in; I hae settled a’ that. 
And now let’s hear your story. Whisht, Wasp, man ! wow, 
bui he’s glad to see you, poor thing !’ 

Bertram’s story, being confined to the accident of Hazle- 
wood, and the confusion made between his own identity and 

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GUY MANNERING 


that of one of the smugglers who had been active in the as- 
sault of Woodbourne, and chanced to bear the same name, 
was soon told. Dinmont listened very attentively. ‘Aweel,’ 
he said, ‘this suld be nae sic dooms desperate business surely ; 
the lad’s doing weel again that was hurt, and what signifies 
twa or three lead draps in his shouther? if ye had putten out 
his ee it would hae been another case. But eh, as I wuss 
auld Sherra Pleydell was to the fore here ! Odd, he was the 
man for sorting them, and the queerest rough-spoken deevil 
too that ever ye heard !’ 

‘But now tell me, my excellent friend, how did you find 
out I was here?’ 

‘Odd, lad, queerly eneugh,’ said Dandie; ‘but I’ll tell ye 
that after we are done wi’ our supper, for it will maybe no 
be sae weel to speak about it while that lang-lugged limmer 
o’ a lass is gaun disking in and out o’ the room.’ 

Bertram’s curiosity was in some degree put to rest by the 
appearance of the supper which his friend had ordered, 
which, although homely enough, had the appetising cleanli- 
ness in which Mrs. Mac-Guflfog’s cookery was so eminently 
deficient. Dinmont also, premising he had ridden the whole 
day since breakfast-time without tasting anything ‘to speak 
of,’ which qualifying phrase related to about three pounds 
of cold roast mutton which he had discussed at his mid-day 
stage — Dinmont, I say, fell stoutly upon the good cheer, and, 
like one of Homer’s heroes, said little, either good or bad, 
till the rage of thirst and hunger was appeased. At length, 
after a draught of home-brewed ale, he began by observing, 
‘A weel, aweel, that hen,’ looking upon the lamentable relics 
of what had been once a large fowl, ‘wasna a bad ane to be 
bred at a town end, though it’s no like our barn-door chuckies 
at Charlie’s Hope ; and I am glad to see that this vexing job 
hasna taen awa your appetite, Captain.’ 

‘Why, really, my dinner was not so excellent, Mr. Din- 
mont, as to spoil my supper.’ 

‘I daresay no, I daresay no,’ said Dandie. ‘But now, 
hinny, that ye hae brought us the brandy, and the mug wi’ 
the het water, and the sugar, and a’ right, ye may steek the 
door, ye see, for we wad hae some o’ our ain cracks.’ The 
damsel accordingly retired and shut the door of the apart- 

325 


GUY MANNERING 


merit, to which she added the precaution of drawing a large 
bolt on the outside. 

As soon as she was gone Dandie reconnoitred the premises, 
listened at the key-hole as if he had been listening for the 
blowing of an otter, and, having satisfied himself that there 
were no eavesdroppers, returned to the table; and, making 
himself what he called a gey stiff cheerer, poked the fire, and 
began his story in an undertone of gravity and importance 
not very usual with him. 

'Ye see. Captain, I had been in Edinbro' for twa or three 
days, looking after the burial of a friend that we hae lost, 
and maybe I suld hae had something for my ride ; but there’s 
disappointments in a’ things, and wha can help the like o’ 
that? And I had a wee bit law business besides, but that’s 
neither here nor there. In short, I had got my matters set- 
tled, and hame I cam; and the morn awa to the muirs to 
see what the herds had been about, and I thought I might as 
weel gie a look to the Touthope Head, where Jock o’ Daw- 
ston and me has the outcast about a march. Weel, just as I 
was coming upon the bit, I saw a man afore me that I kenn’d 
was nane o’ our herds, and it’s a wild bit to meet ony other 
body, so when I cam up to him it was Tod Gabriel, the fox- 
hunter. So I says to him, rather surprised like, "What are 
ye doing up amang the craws here, without your hounds, 
man ? are ye seeking the fox without the dogs ?” So he said, 
"Na, gudeman, but I wanted to see yoursell.” 

' "Ay,” said I, "and ye’ll be wanting eilding now, or some- 
thing to pit ower the winter ?” 

'"Na, na,” quo’ he, "it’s no that I’m seeking; but ye tak 
an unco concern in that Captain Brown that was staying wi’ 
you, d’ye no?” 

'"Troth do I, Gabriel,” says I; "and what about him, 
lad?” 

‘Says he, "There’s mair tak an interest in him than you, 
and some that I am bound to obey; and it’s no just on my 
ain will that I’m here to tell you something about him that 
will no please you.” 

' "Faith, naething will please me,” quo’ I, "that’s no pleas- 
ing to him.” 

' "And then,” quo’ he, ye’ll be ill-sorted to hear that he’s 
326 


GUY MANNERING 


like to be in the prison at Portanferry, if he disna tak a’ the 
better care o’ himsell, for there’s been warrants out to tak 
him as soon as he comes ower the water frae Allonby., And 
now, gudeman, an ever ye wish him weel, ye maun ride down 
to Portanferry, and let nae grass grow at the nag’s heels; and 
if ye find him in confinement, ye maun stay beside him night 
and day for a day or twa, for he’ll want friends that hae baith 
heart and hand; and if ye neglect this ye’ll never rue but 
ance, for it will be for a’ your life.” 

' '‘But, safe us, man,” quo’ I, “how did ye learn a’ this ? it’s 
an unco way between this and Portanferry.” 

‘ “Never ye mind that,” quo’ he, “them that brought us 
the news rade night and day, and ye maun be atf instantly if 
ye wad do ony gude; and sae I have naething mair to tell 
ye.” Sae he sat himsell doun and hirselled doun into the 
glen, where it wad hae been ill following him wi’ the beast, 
and I cam back to Charlie’s Hope to tell the gudewife, for I 
was uncertain what to do. It wad look unco-like, I thought, 
just to be sent out on a hunt-the-gowk errand wi’ a land- 
louper like that. But, Lord ! as the gudewife set up her 
throat about it, and said what a shame it wad be if ye was 
to come to ony wrang, an I could help ye; and then in cam 
your letter that confirmed it. So I took to the kist, and out 
wi’ the pickle notes in case they should be needed, and a’ the 
bairns ran to saddle Dumple. By great luck I had taen the 
other beast to Edinbro’, sae Dumple was as fresh as a rose. 
Sae aff I set, and Wasp wi’ me, for ye wad really hae thought 
he kenn’d where I was gaun, puir beast ; and here I am after 
a trot o’ sixty mile or near by. But Wasp rade thirty o’ 
them afore me on the saddle, and the puir doggie balanced 
itsell as ane of the weans wad hae dune, whether I trotted or 
cantered.’ 

In this strange story Bertram obviously saw, supposing the 
warning to be true, some intimation of danger more violent 
and imminent than could be likely to arise from a few days’ 
imprisonment. At the same time it was equally evident that 
some unknown friend was working in his behalf. ‘Did you 
not say,’ he asked Dinmont, ‘that this man Gabriel was of 
gipsy blood?’ 

‘It was e’en judged sae,’ said Dinmont, ‘and I think this 

327 


GUY MANNERING 


maks it likely ; for they aye ken where the gangs o’ ilk ither 
are to be found, and they can gar news flee like a footba’ 
through the country an they like. An’ I forgot to tell ye, 
there’s been an unco inquiry after the auld wife that we saw 
in Bewcastle ; the Sheriff’s had folk ower the Limestane Edge 
after her, and down the Hermitage and Liddel, and a’ gates, 
and a reward offered for her to appear o’ fifty pound sterling, 
nae less; and Justice Forster, he’s had out warrants, as I am 
tell’d, in Cumberland; and an unco ranging and ripeing they 
have had a’ gates seeking for her; but she’ll no be taen wi’ 
them unless she likes, for a’ that.’ 

‘And how comes that?’ said Bertram. 

‘Ou, I dinna ken; I daur say it’s nonsense, but they say 
she has gathered the fern-seed, and can gang ony gate she 
likes, like Jock the Giant-killer in the ballant, wi’ his coat o’ 
darkness and his shoon o’ swiftness. Ony way she’s a kind 
o’ queen amang the gipsies ; she is mair than a hundred year 
auld, folk say, and minds the coming in o’ the moss-troopers 
in the troublesome times when the Stuarts were put awa. 
Sae, if she canna hide hersell, she kens them that can hide 
her weel eneugh, ye needna doubt that. Odd, an I had 
kenn’d it had been Meg Merrilies yon night at Tibb 
Mumps’s, I wad taen care how I crossed her.’ 

Bertram listened with great attention to this account, which 
tallied so well in many points with what he had himself seen 
of this gipsy sibyl. After a moment’s consideration he con- 
cluded it would be no breach of faith to mention what he had 
seen at Derncleugh to a person who held Meg in such rever- 
ence as Dinmont obviously did. He told his story accord- 
ingly, often interrupted by ejaculations, such as, ‘Weel, the 
like o’ that now !’ or, ‘Na, deil an that’s no something now !’ 

When our Liddesdale friend had heard the whole to an 
end, he shook his great black head — ‘Weel, I’ll uphaud there’s 
baith gude and ill amang the gipsies, and if they deal wi’ the 
Enemy, it’s a’ their ain business and no ours. I ken what the 
streeking the corpse wad be, weel eneugh. Thae smuggler 
deevils, when ony o’ them’s killed in a fray, they’ll send for 
a wife like Meg far eneugh to dress the corpse; odd, it’s a’ 
the burial they ever think o’ ! and then to be put into the 
ground without ony decency, just like dogs. But they stick 

328 


GUY MANNERING 


to it, that they’ll be streekit, and hae an auld wife when 
they’re dying to rhyme ower prayers, and ballants, and 
charms, as they ca’ them, rather than they’ll hae a minister 
to come and pray wi’ them — that’s an auld threep o’ theirs; 
and I am thinking the man that died will hae been ane o’ the 
folk that was shot when they burnt Woodbourne.’ 

‘But, my good friend, Woodbourne is not burnt,’ said 
Bertram. 

‘Weel, the better for them that bides in’t,’ answered the 
store-farmer. ‘Odd, we had it up the water wi’ us that there 
wasna a stane on the tap o’ anither. But there was fighting, 
ony way ; I daur to say it would be fine fun ! And, as I said, 
ye may take it on trust that that’s been ane o’ the men killed 
there, and that it’s been the gipsies that took your pockmanky 
when they fand the chaise stickin’ in the snaw; they wadna 
pass the like o’ that, it wad just come to their hand like the 
bowl o’ a pint stoup.’ 

‘But if this woman is a sovereign among them, why was 
she not able to afford me open protection, and to get me 
back my property?’ 

‘Ou, wha kens ? she has muckle to say wi’ them, but whiles 
they’ll tak their ain way for a’ that, when they’re under 
temptation. And then there’s the smugglers that they’re aye 
leagued wi’, she maybe couldna manage them sae weel. 
They’re aye banded thegither ; I’ve heard that the gipsies ken 
when the smugglers will come aff, and where they’re to land, 
better than the very merchants that deal wi’ them. And 
then, to the boot o’ that, she’s whiles crack-brained, and has 
a bee in her head ; they say that, whether her spaeings and 
fortune-tellings be true or no, for certain she believes in them 
a’ hersell, and is aye guiding hersell by some queer prophecy» 
or anither. So she disna aye gang the straight road to the 
well. But deil o’ sic a story as yours, wi’ glamour and dead 
folk and losing ane’s gate, I ever heard out o’ the tale-books! 
But whisht, I hear the keeper coming. 

Mac-Guff og accordingly interrupted their discourse by the 
harsh harmony of the bolts and bars, and showed his bloated 
visage at the opening door. ‘Come, Mr. Dinmont, we have 
put off locking up for an hour to oblige ye ; ye must go to 
your quarters.’ 

329 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Quarters, man ? I intend to sleep here the night. There s 
a spare bed in the Captain’s room.’ 

Tt’s impossible!’ answered the keeper. 

‘But I say it is possible, and that I winna stir ; and there’s 
a dram t’ye.’ 

Mac-Guffog drank off the spirits and resumed his objec- 
tion. ‘But it’s against rule, sir ; ye have committed nae male- 
faction.’ 

‘I’ll break your head,’ said the sturdy Liddesdale man, ‘if 
ye say ony mair about it, and that will be malefaction eneugh 
to entitle me to ae night’s lodging wi’ you, ony way.’ 

‘But I tell ye, Mr. Dinmont,’ reiterated the keeper, ‘it’s 
against rule, and I behoved to lose my post.’ 

‘Weel, Mac-Guffog,’ said Dandie, T hae just twa things to 
say. Ye ken wha I am weel eneugh, and that I wadna loose 
a prisoner.’ 

‘And how do I ken that?’ answered the jailor. 

‘Weel, if ye dinna ken that,’ said the resolute farmer, ‘ye 
ken this : ye ken ye’re whiles obliged to be up our water in 
the way o’ your business. Now, if ye let me stay quietly 
here the night wi’ the Captain, I’s pay ye double fees for the 
room ; and if ye say no, ye shall hae the best sark-fu’ o’ sair 
banes that ever ye had in your life the first time ye set a foot 
by Liddel Moat !’ 

‘Aweel, aweel, gudeman,’ said Mac-Guffog, ‘a wilfu man 
maun hae his way; but if I am challenged for it by the jus- 
tices, I ken wha sail bear the wyte,’ and, having sealed this 
observation with a deep oath or two, he retired to bed, after 
carefully securing all the doors of the bridewell. The bell 
from the town steeple tolled nine just as the ceremony was 
concluded. 

‘Although it’s but early hours,’ said the farmer, who had 
observed that his friend looked somewhat pale and fatigued, 
‘I think we had better lie down. Captain, if ye’re no agreeable 
to another cheerer. But troth, ye’re nae glass-breaker; and 
neither am I, unless it be a screed wi’ the neighbours, or when 
I’m on a ramble.’ 

Bertram readily assented to the motion of his faithful 
friend, but, on looking at the bed. felt repugnance to trust 
himself undressed to Mrs. Mac-Guffog’s clean sheets. 

330 


GUY MANNERING 


‘I’m muckle o’ your opinion, Captain,’ said Dandie. ‘Odd, 
this bed looks as if a’ the colliers in Sanquhar had been in’t 
thegither. But it’ll no win through my muckle coat.’ So 
saying, he flung himself upon the frail bed with a force that 
made all its timbers crack, and in a few moments gave au- 
dible signal that he was fast asleep. Bertram slipped off his 
coat and boots and occupied the other dormitory. The 
strangeness of his destiny, and the mysteries which appeared 
to thicken around him, while he seemed alike to be perse- 
cuted and protected by secret enemies and friends, arising out 
i of a class of people with whom he had no previous connexion, 
' for some time occupied his thoughts. Fatigue, however, 
I gradually composed his mind, and in a short time he was as 
[ fast asleep as his companion. And in this comfortable state 
of oblivion we must leave them until we acquaint the reader 
with some other circumstances which occurred about the 
same period. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


Say from whence 

You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greeting? 

Speak, I charge you. 


Macbeth. 


U PON the evening of the day when Bertram’s examina- 
tion had taken place. Colonel Mannering arrived at 
Woodbourne from Edinburgh. He found his family in their 
usual state, which probably, so far as Julia was concerned, 
would not have been the case had she learned the news of 
Bertram’s arrest. But as, during the Colonel’s absence, the 
two young ladies lived much retired, this circumstance for- 
tunately had not reached Woodbourne. A letter had already 
made Miss Bertram acquainted with the downfall of the ex- 
pectations which had been formed upon the bequest of her 
kinswoman. Whatever hopes that news might have dis- 
pelled, the disappointment did not prevent her from joining 
her friend in affording a cheerful reception to the Colonel, 
to whom she thus endeavoured to express the deep sense she 

331 


GUY MANNERING 


entertained of his paternal kindness. She touched on her 
regret that at such a season of the year he should have made, 
upon her account, a journey so fruitless. 

‘That it was fruitless to you, my dear,' said the Colonel, 
T do most deeply lament; but for my own share, I have 
made some valuable acquaintances, and have spent the time 
I have been absent in Edinburgh with peculiar satisfaction; 
so that on that score there is nothing to be regretted. Even 
our friend the Dominie is returned thrice the man he was, 
from having sharpened his wits in controversy with the 
geniuses of the northern metropolis.' 

‘Of a surety,' said the Dominie, with great complacency, 
‘I did wrestle, and was not overcome, though my adversary 
was cunning in his art.' 

‘I presume,' said Miss Mannering, ‘the contest was some- 
what fatiguing, Mr. Sampson?' 

‘Very much, young lady; howbeit I girded up my loins and 
strove against him.' 

‘I can bear witness,' said the Colonel ; ‘I never saw an 
affair better contested. The enemy was like the Mahratta 
cavalry : he assailed on all sides, and presented no fair mark 
for artillery; but Mr. Sampson stood to his guns notwith- 
standing, and fired away, now upon the enemy and now upon 
the dust which he had raised. But we must not fight our 
battles over again to-night; to-morrow we shall have the 
whole at breakfast.' 

The next morning at breakfast, however, the Dominie did 
not make his appearance. He had walked out, a servant 
said, early in the morning. It was so common for him to 
forget his meals that his absence never deranged the family. 
The housekeeper, a decent old-fashioned Presbyterian ma- 
tron, having, as such, the highest respect for Sampson’s 
theological acquisitions, had it in charge on these occasions 
to take care that he was no sufferer by his absence of mind, 
and therefore usually waylaid him on his return, to remind 
him of his sublunary wants, and to minister to their relief. 
It seldom, however, happened that he was absent from two 
meals together, as was the case in the present instance. We 
must explain the cause of this unusual occurrence. 

The conversation which Mr. PJ^ydell had held with Mr. 

332 


GUY MANNERING 


i^Mannering on the subject of the loss of Harry Bertram had 
awakened all the painful sensations which that event had 
inflicted upon Sampson. The affectionate heart of the poor 
Dominie had always reproached him that his negligence in 
leaving the child in the care of Frank Kennedy had been the 
proximate cause of the murder of the one, the loss of the 
other, the death of Mrs. Bertram, and the ruin of the family 
of his patron. It was a subject which he never conversed 
upon, if indeed his mode of speech could be called conversa- 
tion at any time ; but it was often present to his imagination. 
The sort of hope so strongly affirmed and asserted in Mrs. 
Bertram’s last settlement had excited a corresponding feel- 
ing in the Dominie’s bosom, which was exasperated into a 
sort of sickening anxiety by the discredit with which Pley- 
dell had treated it. ‘Assuredly,’ thought Sampson to himself, 
‘he is a man of erudition, and well skilled in the weighty 
matters of the law ; but he is also a man of humorous levity 
and inconsistency of speech, and wherefore should he pro- 
nounce ex cathedra, as it were, on the hope expressed by 
worthy Madam Margaret Bertram of Singleside?’ 

All this, I say, the Dominie thought to himself ; for had he 
uttered half the sentence, his jaws would have ached for a 
month under the unusual fatigue of such a continued exer- 
tion. The result of these cogitations was a resolution to go 
and visit the scene of the tragedy at Warroch Point, where 
he had not been for many years ; not, indeed, since the fatal 
accident had happened. The walk was a long one, for the 
Point of Warroch lay on the farther side of the Ellangowan 
property, which was interposed between it and Woodboume. 
Besides, the Dominie went astray more than once, and met 
with brooks swoln into torrents by the melting of the snow, 
where he, honest man, had only the summer recollection of 
little trickling rills. 

At length, however, he reached the woods which he had 
made the object of his excursion, and traversed them with 
care, muddling his disturbed brains with vague efforts to re- 
call every circumstance of the catastrophe. It will readily be 
supposed that the influence of local situation and association 
was inadequate to produce conclusions different from those 
which he had formed under the immediate pressure of the 

333 


GUY MANNERING 


occurrences themselves. ‘With many a weary sigh, therefore, 
and many a groan,’ the poor Dominie returned from his hope- 
less pilgrimage, and weariedly plodded his way towards 
Woodbourne, debating at times in his altered mind a question 
which was forced upon him by the cravings of an appetite 
rather of the keenest, namely, whether he had breakfasted 
that morning or no? It was in this twilight humour, now 
thinking of the loss of the child, then involuntarily com- 
pelled to meditate upon the somewhat incongruous subject 
of hung beef, rolls, and butter, that his route, which was dif- 
ferent from that which he had taken in the morning, con- 
ducted him past the small ruined tower, or rather vestige of a 
tower, called by the country people the Kaim of Derncleugh. 

The reader may recollect the description of this ruin in 
the twenty-seventh chapter, as the vault in which young 
Bertram, under the auspices of Meg Merrilies, witnessed the 
death of Hatteraick’s lieutenant. The tradition of the coun- 
try added ghostly terrors to the natural awe inspired by 
the situation of this place, which terrors the gipsies who so 
long inhabited the vicinity had probably invented, or at least 
propagated, for their own advantage. It was said that, dur- 
ing the times of the Galwegian independence, one Hanlon 
Mac-Dingawaie, brother to the reigning chief, Knarth Mac- 
Dingawaie, murdered his brother and sovereign, in order to 
usurp the principality from his infant nephew, and that, being 
pursued for vengeance by the faithful allies and retainers of 
the house, who espoused the cause of the lawful heir, he was 
compelled to retreat, with a few followers whom he had in- 
volved in his crime, to this impregnable tower called the 
Kaim of Derncleugh, where he defended himself until nearly 
reduced by famine, when, setting fire to the place, he and the 
small remaining garrison desperately perished by their own 
swords, rather than fall into the hands of their exasperated 
enemies. This tragedy, which, considering the wild times 
wherein it was placed, might have some foundation in truth, 
was larded with many legends of superstition and diablerie, 
so that most of the peasants of the neighbourhood, if be- 
nighted, would rather have chosen to make a considerable 
circuit than pass these haunted walls. The lights, often 
seen around the tower, when used as the rendezvous of the 

334 


GUY MANNERING 


lawless characters by whom it was occasionally frequented, 
were accounted for, under authority of these tales of witch- 
ery, in a manner at once convenient for the private parties 
concerned and satisfactory to the public. 

Now it must be confessed that our friend Sampson, al- 
though a profound scholar and mathematician, had not trav- 
elled so far in philosophy as to doubt the reality of witchcraft 
or apparitions. Bom, indeed, at a time when a doubt in the 
existence of witches was interpreted as equivalent to a justi- 
fication of their infernal practices, a belief of such legends had 
been impressed upon the Dominie as an article indivisible 
from his religious faith, and perhaps it would have been 
equally difficult to have induced him to doubt the one as the 
I other. With these feelings, and in a thick misty day, which 

t was already drawing to its close. Dominie Sampson did not 

^ pass the Kaim of Defncleugh without some feelings of tacit 
I horror. 

What, then, was his astonishment when, on passing the 
door — that door which was supposed to have been placed 
there by one of the latter Lairds of Ellangowan to prevent 
presumptuous strangers from incurring the dangers of the 
I haunted vault — that door, supposed to be always locked, and 
j the key of which was popularly said to be deposited with the 
I presbytery — that door, that very door, opened suddenly, and 

j the figure of Meg Merrilies, well known, though not seen for 
! many a revolving year, was placed at once before the eyes of 
the startled Dominie She stood immediately before him in 
the footpath, confronting him so absolutely that he could not 
avoid her except by fairly turning back, which his manhood 
prevented him from thinking of. 

'I kenn’d ye wad be here,’ she said, with her harsh and 
hollow voice; ‘I ken wha ye seek; but ye maun do my bid- 
ding.’ 

'Get thee behind me!’ said the alarmed Dominie. 'Avoid 
ye ! Conjuro te, scelestissima, nequissima, spurcissima, ini- 
quissima atque miserrima, conjuro te! ! !' 

Meg stood her ground against this tremendous volley of 
superlatives, which Sampson hawked up from the pit of his 
stomach and hurled at her in thunder. 'Is the carl daft,’ she 
said, 'wi’ his glamour?’ 


335 


GUY MANNERING 


'Conjuro* continued the Dominie, 'abjuro^ contestor atque 
viriliter impero tibiP 

‘What, in the name of Sathan, are ye feared for, wi’ your 
French gibberish, that would make a dog sick? Listen, ye 
stickit stibbler, to what I tell ye, or ye sail rue it while there’s 
a limb o’ ye hings to anither! Tell Colonel Mannering that 
I ken he’s seeking me. He kens, and I ken, that the blood 
will be wiped out, and the lost will be found. 

And Bertram’s right and Bertram’s might 
Shall meet on Ellangowan height. 

Hae, there’s a letter to him ; I was gaun to send it in another 
way. I canna write mysell; but I hae them that will baith 
write and read, and ride and rin for me. Tell him the time’s 
coming now, and the weird’s dree’d, and the wheel’s turning. 
Bid him look at the stars as he has looked at them before. 
Will ye mind a’ this ?’ 

‘Assuredly,’ said the Dominie, ‘I am dubious ; for, woman, 
I am perturbed at thy words, and my flesh quakes to hear 
thee/ 

‘They’ll do ye nae ill though, and maybe muckle gude.’ 

‘Avoid ye! I desire no good that comes by unlawful 
means.’ 

‘Fule body that thou art,’ said Meg, stepping up to him, 
with a frown of indignation that made her dark eyes flash 
like lamps from under her bent brows — ‘Fule body ! if I 
meant ye wrang, couldna I clod ye ower that craig, and wad 
man ken how ye cam by your end mair than Frank Ken- 
nedy ? Here ye that, ye worriecow ?’ 

‘In the name of all that is good,’ said the Dominie, re- 
coiling and pointing his long pewter-headed walking cane 
like a javelin at the supposed sorceress — ‘in the name of all 
that is good, bide off hands ! I will not be handled ; woman, 
stand off, upon thine own proper peril ! Desist, I say ; I am 
strong ; lo, I will resist !’ Here his speech was cut short ; for 
Meg, armed with supernatural strength (as the Dominie as- 
serted), broke in upon his guard, put by a thrust which he 
made at her with his cane, and lifted him into the vault, ‘as 
easy,’ said he, ‘as I could sway a Kitchen’s Atlas.’ 

‘Sit down there,’ she said, pushing the half-throttled 

336 


GUY MANNERING 


preacher with some violence against a broken chair — ^sit 
down there and gather your wind and your senses, ye black 
barrow-tram o’ the kirk that ye are. Are ye fou or fasting?’ 

‘Fasting, from all but sin, answered the Dominie, who, 
recovering his voice, and finding his exorcisms only served to 
exasperate the intractable sorceress, thought it best to affect 
complaisance and submission, inwardly conning over, how- 
ever, the wholesome conjurations which he durst no longer 
utter aloud. But as the Dominie’s brain was by no means 
equal to carry on two trains of ideas at the same time, a word 
or two of his mental exercise sometimes escaped and mingled 
with his uttered speech in a manner ludicrous enough, es- 
pecially as the poor man shrunk himself together after every 
escape of the kind, from terror of the effect it might produce 
upon the irritable feelings of the witch. 

Meg in the meanwhile went to a great black cauldron that 
was boiling on a fire on the floor, and, lifting the lid, an odour 
was diffused through the vault which, if the vapours of a 
witch’s cauldron could in aught be trusted, promised better 
things than the hell-broth which such vessels are usually sup- 
posed to contain. It was, in fact, the savour of a goodly 
stew, composed of fowls, hares, partridges, and moor-game 
boiled in a large mess with potatoes, onions, and leeks, and 
from the size of the cauldron appeared to be prepared for 
half a dozen of people at least. ‘So ye hae naething a’ day?’ 
said Meg, heaving a large portion of this mess into a brown 
dish and strewing it savourily with salt and pepper.^ 

‘Nothing,’ answered the Dominie, ‘scelestissima ! — that is*, 
gudewife.’ 

‘Hae then,’ said she, placing the dish before him, ‘there’s 
what will warm your heart.’ 

‘I do not hunger, maleiica — that is to say, Mrs. Merrilies !’ 
for he said unto himself, ‘the savour is sweet, but it hath been 
cooked by a Canidia or an Ericthoe.’ 

‘If ye dinna eat instantly and put some saul in ye, by the 
bread and salt, I’ll put it down your throat wi’ the cutty 
spoon, scaulding as it is, and whether ye will or no. Gape, 
sinner, and swallow !’ 

Sampson, afraid of eye of newt, and toe of frog, tigers’ 

^ See Gipsy Cooking. Note ii. 

337 


GUY MANNERING 


chaudrons, and so forth, had determined not to venture ; but 
the smell of the stew was fast melting his obstinacy, which 
flowed from his chops as it were in streams of water, and 
the witch’s threats decided him to feed. Hunger and fear 
are excellent casuists. 

‘Saul,’ said Hunger, ‘feasted with the witch of Endor.’ 
‘And,’ quoth Fear, ‘the salt which she sprinkled upon the 
food showeth plainly it is not a necromantic banquet, in which 
that seasoning never occurs.’ ‘And, besides,’ says Hunger, 
after the first spoonful, ‘it is savoury and refreshing viands.’ 

‘So ye like the meat?’ said the hostess. 

‘Yea,’ answered the Dominie, ‘and I give thee thanks, 
sceleratissima ! — which means, Mrs. Margaret.’ 

‘Aweel, eat your fill; but an ye kenn’d how it was gotten 
ye maybe wadna like it sae week’ Sampson’s spoon dropped 
in the act of conveying its load to his mouth. ‘There’s been 
money a moonlight watch to bring a’ that trade thegither,’ 
continued Meg; ‘the folk that are to eat that dinner thought 
little o’ your game laws.’ 

‘Is that all?’ thought Sampson, resuming his spoon and 
shovelling away manfully; ‘I will not lack my food upon 
that argument.’ 

‘Now ye maun tak a dram?’ 

‘I will,’ quoth Sampson, ‘conjuro te — that is, I thank you 
heartily,’ for he thought to himself, in for a penny in for a 
pound ; and he fairly drank the witch’s health in a cupful of 
brandy. When he had put this copestone upon Meg’s good 
theer, he felt, as he said, ‘mighty elevated, and afraid of no 
evil which could befall unto him.’ 

‘Will ye remember my errand now?’ said Meg Merrilies; 
‘I ken by the cast o’ your ee that ye’re anither man than 
when you cam in.’ 

‘I will, Mrs. Margaret,’ repeated Sampson, stoutly; ‘I will 
deliver unto him the sealed epistle, and will add what you 
please to send by word of mouth.’ 

‘Then I’ll make it short,’ says Meg. ‘Tell him to look at 
the stars without fail this night, and to do what I desire him 
in that letter, as he would wish 

That Bertram’s right and Bertram’s might 
Should meet on Ellangowan height. 

338 


GUY MANNERING 


I have seen him twice when he saw na me; I ken when he 
* was in this country first, and I ken what’s brought him back 
again. Up an’ to the gate ! ye’re ower lang here ; follow me.’ 

Sampson followed the sibyl accordingly, who guided him 
about a quarter of a mile through the woods, by a shorter 
cut than he could have found for himself; they then entered 
upon the common, Meg still marching before him at a great 
pace, until she gained the top of a small hillock which over- 
hung the road. 

‘Here,’ she said, ‘stand still here. Look how the setting 
sun breaks through yon cloud that’s been darkening the lift 
a’ day. See where the first stream o’ light fa’s : it’s upon 
Donagild’s round tower, the auldest tower in the Castle o’ 
Ellangowan ; that’s no for naething ! See as it’s glooming to 
seaward abune yon sloop in the bay; that’s no for naething 
neither. Here I stood on this very spot,’ said she, drawing 
herself up so as not to lose one hair-breath of her uncommon 
height, and stretching out her long sinewy arm and clenched 
hand — ‘here I stood when I tauld the last Laird o’ Ellan- 
gowan what was coming on his house ; and did that fa’ to the 
ground ? na, it hit even ower sair ! And here, where I brake 
the wand of peace ower him, here I stand again, to bid God 
bless and prosper the just heir of Ellangowan that will sune 
be brought to his ain ; and the best laird he shall be that 
Ellangowan has seen for three hundred years. I’ll no live 
to see it, maybe; but there will be mony a blythe ee see it 
though mine be closed. And now, Abel Sampson, as ever 
ye lo’ed the house of Ellangowan, away wi’ my message to 
the English Colonel, as if life and death were upon your 
haste !’ 

So saying, she turned suddenly from the amazed Dominie 
and regained with swift and long strides the shelter of the 
wood from which she had issued at the point where it most 
encroached upon the common. Sampson gazed after her for 
a moment in utter astonishment, and then obeyed her di- 
rections, hurrying to Woodbourne at a pace very unusual for 
him, exclaiming three times, ‘Prodigious! prodigious, pro- 
di-gi-ous !’ 


339 


GUY MANNERING 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


It is not madness 


That I have utter’d ; bring me to the test. 

And I the matter will re- word; which madness 
Would gambol from. 


Hamlet, 


S Mr. Sampson crossed the hall with a bewildered look. 



Mrs. Allan, the good housekeeper, who, with the rev- 
erent attention which is usually rendered to the clergy in 
Scotland, was on the watch for his return, sallied forth to 
meet him — ‘What’s this o’t now, Mr. Sampson, this is waur 
than ever! Ye’ll really do yoursell some injury wi’ these lang 
fasts; naething’s sae hurtful to the stamach, Mr. Sampson. 
If ye would but put some peppermint draps in your pocket, 
or let Barnes cut ye a sandwich.’ 

‘Avoid theeT quoth the Dominie, his mind running still 
upon his interview with Meg Merrilies, and making for the 
dining-parlour. 

‘Na, ye needna gang in there, the cloth’s been removed an 
hour syne, and the Colonel’s at his wine; but just step into 
my room, I have a nice steak that the cook will do in a 
moment.’ 

‘Exorciso te f said Sampson ; ‘that is, I have dined.’ 

‘Dined ! it’s impossible ; wha can ye hae dined wi’, you 
that gangs out nae gate?’ 

‘With Beelzebub, I believe,’ said the minister. 

‘Na, then he’s bewitched for certain,’ said the housekeeper, 
letting go her hold ; ‘he’s bewitched, or he’s daft, and ony 
way the Colonel maun just guide him his ain gate. Wae’s 
me I Hech, sirs 1 It’s a sair thing to see learning bring folk 
to this!’ And with this compassionate ejaculation she re- 
treated into her own premises. 

The object of her commiseration had by this time entered 
the dining-parlour, where his appearance gave great surprise. 
He was mud up to the shoulders, and the natural paleness of 
his hue was twice as cadaverous as usual, through terror, 
fatigue, and perturbation of mind. ‘What on earth is the 
meaning of this, Mr. Sampson?’ said Mannering, who ob- 


340 


GUY MANNERING 


served Miss Bertram looking much alarmed for her simple 
but attached friend. 

^Exorciso/ said the Dominie. 

‘How, sir?’ replied the astonished Colonel. 

‘I crave pardon, honourable sir ! but my wits ’ 

‘Are gone a wool-gathering, I think; pray Mr. Sampson, 
collect yourself, and let me know the meaning of all this.’ 

Sampson was about to reply, but finding his Latin formula 
of exorcism still came most readily to his tongue, he prudent- 
ly desisted from the attempt, and put the scrap of paper 
which he had received from the gipsy into Mannering’s hand, 
who broke the seal and read it with surprise. ‘This seems to 
be some jest,’ he said, ‘and a very dull one.’ 

‘It came from no jesting person,’ said Mr. Sampson. 

‘From whom then did it come?’ demanded Mannering. 

The Dominie, who often displayed some delicacy of recol- 
lection in cases where Miss Bertram had an interest, re- 
membered the painful circumstances connected with Meg 
Merrilies, looked at the young ladies, and remained silent. 
‘We will join you at the tea-table in an instant, Julia,’ said 
the Colonel; ‘I see that Mr. Sampson wishes to speak to me 
alone. And now they are gone, what, in Heaven’s name, Mr. 
Sampson, is the meaning of all this?’ 

‘It may be a message from Heaven,’ said the Dominie, 
‘but it came by Beelzebub’s postmistress. It was that witch 
Meg Merrilies, who should have been burned with a tar- 
barrel twenty years since for a harlot, thief, witch, and gipsy.’ 

‘Are you sure it was she?’ said the Colonel with great 
interest. 

‘Sure, honoured sir? Of a truth she is one not to be 
forgotten, the like o’ Meg Merrilies is not to be seen in any 
land.’ 

The Colonel paced the room rapidly, cogitating with him- 
self. ‘To send out to apprehend her; but it is too distant to 
send to Mac-Morlan, and Sir Robert Hazlewood is a pomp- 
ous coxcomb ; besides, the chance of not finding her upon the 
spot, or that the humour of silence that seized her before may 
again return. No, I will not, to save being thought a fool, 
neglect the course she points out! Many of her class set 
out by being impostors and end by becoming enthusiasts, 

341 


GUY MANNERING 


or hold a kind of darkling conduct between both lines, uncon- 
scious almost when they are cheating themselves or when 
imposing on others. Well, my course is a plain one at any 
rate; and if my efforts are fruitless, it shall not be owing 
to over- jealousy of my own character for wisdom.’ 

With this he rang the bell, and, ordering Barnes into his 
private sitting-room, gave him some orders, with the result 
of which the reader may be made hereafter acquainted. 

We must now take up another adventure, which is also to 
be woven into the story of this remarkable day. 

Charles Hazlewood ha^. not ventured to make a visit at 
Woodbourne during the absence of the Colonel. Indeed, 
Mannering’s whole behaviour had impressed upon him an 
opinion that this would be disagreeable; and such was the 
ascendency which the successful soldier and accomplished 
gentleman had attained over the young man’s conduct, that 
in no respect would he have ventured to offend him. He 
saw, or thought he saw, in Colonel Mannering’s general con- 
duct, an approbation of his attachment to Miss Bertram. But 
then he saw still more plainly the impropriety of any attempt 
at a private correspondence, of which his parents could not 
be supposed to approve, and he respected this barrier inter- 
posed betwixt them both on Mannering’s account and as he 
was the liberal and zealous protector of Miss Bertram. ‘No,’ 
said he to himself, ‘I will not endanger the comfort of my 
Lucy’s present retreat until I can offer her a home of her 
own.’ 

With this valorous resolution, which he maintained al- 
though his horse, from constant habit, turned his head down 
the avenue of Woodbourne, and although he himself passed 
the lodge twice every day, Charles Hazlewood withstood a 
strong inclination to ride down just to ask how the young 
ladies were, and whether he could be of any service to them 
during Colonel Mannering’s absence. But on the second 
occasion he felt the temptation so severe that he resolved not 
to expose himself to it a third time; and, contenting himself 
with sending hopes and inquiries and so forth to Wood- 
bourne, he resolved to make a visit long promised to a family 
at some distance, and to return in such time as to be one of 
the earliest among Mannering’s visitors who should con- 

342 


GUY MANNERING 


gratulate his safe arrival from his distant and hazardous ex- 
pedition to Edinburgh. Accordingly he made out his visit, 
and, having arranged matters so as to be informed within a 
few hours after Colonel Mannering reached home, he finally 
resolved to take leave of the friends with whom he had spent 
the intervening time, with the intention of dining at Wood- 
bourne, where he was in a great measure domesticated; and 
this (for he thought much more deeply on the subject than 
was necessary) would, he flattered himself, appear a simple, 
natural, and easy mode of conducting himself. 

Fate, however, of which lovers make so many complaints, 
was in this case unfavourable to Charles Hazlewood. His 
horse’s shoes required an alteration, in consequence of the 
fresh weather having decidedly commenced. The lady of the 
house where he was a visitor chose to indulge in her own 
room till a very late breakfast hour. His friend also insisted 
on showing him a litter of puppies which his favourite pointer 
bitch had produced that morning. The colours had occas- 
ioned some doubts about the paternity — a weighty question 
of legitimacy, to the decision of which Hazlewood’s opinion 
was called in as arbiter between his friend and his groom, 
and which inferred in i^ consequences which of the litter 
should be drowned, which saved. Besides, the Laird himself 
delayed our young lover’s departure for a considerable time, 
endeavouring, with long and superfluous rhetoric, to insinuate 
to Sir Robert Hazlewood, through the medium of his son, 
his own particular ideas respecting the line of a meditated 
turnpike road. It is greatly to the shame of our young 
lover’s apprehension that, after the tenth reiterated account 
of the matter, he could not see the advantage to be obtained 
by the proposed road passing over the Lang Hirst, Windy 
Knowe, the Goodhouse Park, Hailziecroft, and then crossing 
the river at Simon’s Pool, and so by the road to Kippletrin- 
gan; and the less eligible line pointed out by the English 
surveyor, which would go clear through the main inclosures 
at Hazlewood, and cut within a mile or nearly so of the house 
itself, destroying the privacy and pleasure, as his informer 
contended, of the grounds. 

In short, the adviser (whose actual interest was to have the 
bridge built as near as possible to a farm of his own) failed 

343 


GUY MANNERING 


in every effort to attract young Hazlewood’s attention until 
he mentioned by chance that the proposed line was favoured 
by ‘that fellow Glossin/ who pretended to take a lead in the 
county. On a sudden young Hazlewood became attentive 
and interested; and, having satisfied himself which was the 
line that Glossin patronised, assured his friend it should not 
be his fault if his father did not countenance any other in- 
stead of that. But these various interruptions consumed the 
morning. Hazlewood got on horseback at least three hours 
later than he intended, and, cursing fine ladies, pointers, 
puppies, and turnpike acts of parliament, saw himself de- 
tained beyond the time when he could with propriety intrude 
upon the family at Woodbourne. 

He had passed, therefore, the turn of the road which led 
to that mansion, only edified by the distant appearance of the 
blue smoke curling against the pale blue sky of the winter 
evening, when he thought he beheld the Dominie taking a 
footpath for the house through the woods. He called after 
him, but in vain; for that honest gentleman, never the most 
susceptible of extraneous impressions, had just that moment 
parted from Meg Merrilies, and was too deeply wrapt up in 
pondering upon her vaticinations * to make any answer to 
Hazlewood’s call. He was therefore obliged to let him 
proceed without inquiry after the health of the young ladies, 
or any other fishing question, to which he might by good 
chance have had an answer returned wherein Miss Bertram’s 
name might have been mentioned. All cause for haste was 
now over, and, slackening the reins upon his horse’s neck, 
he permitted the animal to ascend at his own leisure the 
steep sandy track between two high banks, which, rising to a 
considerable height, commanded at length an extensive view 
of the neighbouring country. 

Hazlewood was, however, so far from eagerly looking 
forward to this prospect, though it had the recommendation 
that great part of the land was his father’s, and must neces- 
sarily be his own, that his head still turned backward towards 
the chimneys of Woodbourne, although at every step his 
horse made the difficulty of employing his eyes in that direc- 
tion become greater. From the reverie in which he was sunk 
he was suddenly roused by a voice, too harsh to be called 

344 


GUY MANNERING 


female, yet too shrill for a man : 'What’s kept you on the 
road sae lang ? Maun ither folk do your wark ?’ 

He looked up. The spokeswoman was very tall, had a 
voluminous handkerchief rolled round her head, grizzled hair 
flowing in elf-locks from beneath it, a long red cloak, and 
a staff in her hand, headed with a sort of spear-point ; it was, 
in short, Meg Merrilies. Hazlewood had never seen this 
remarkable figure before; he drew up his reins in astonish- 
ment at her appearance, and made a full stop. T think,’ con- 
tinued she, ‘they that hae taen interest in the house of Ellan- 
gowan suld sleep nane this night ; three men hae been seeking 
ye, and you are gaun hame to sleep in your bed. D’ye think 
if the lad-bairn fa’s, the sister will do weel? Na, na!’ 

T don’t understand you, good woman,’ said Hazlewood. 

Tf you speak of Miss , I mean of any of the late Ellan- 

gowan family, tell me what I can do for them.’ 

‘Of the late Ellangowan family?’ she answered with great 
vehemence — ‘of the late Ellangowan family ! and when was 
there ever, or when will there ever be, a family of Ellan- 
gowan but bearing the gallant name of the bauld Bertrams ?’ 

‘But what do you mean, good woman?’ 

‘I am nae good woman; a’ the country kens I am bad 
eneugh, and baith they and I may be sorry eneugh that I am 
nae better. But I can do what good women canna, and 
daurna do. I can do what would freeze the blood o’ them 
that is bred in biggit wa’s for naething but to bind bairns’ 
heads and to hap them in the cradle. Hear me: the guard’s 
drawn off at the custom-house at Portanferry, and it’s 
brought up to Hazlewood House by your father’s orders, be- 
cause he thinks his house is to be attacked this night by the 
smugglers. There’s naebody means to touch his house; he 
has gude blood and gentle blood — I say little o’ him for him- 
sell — but there’s naebody thinks him worth meddling wi’. 
Send the horsemen back to their post, cannily and quietly; 
see an they winna hae wark the night, ay will they : the guns 
will flash and the swords will glitter in the braw moon.’ 

‘Good God ! what do you mean ?’ said young Hazlewood ; 
‘your words and manner would persuade me you are mad, 
and yet there is a strange combination in what you say.’ 

‘I am not mad!’ exclaimed the gipsy; T have been im- 

345 


GUY MANNERING 


prisoned for mad — scourged for mad — banished for mad — 
but mad I am not. Hear ye, Charles Hazlewood of Hazle- 
wood : d’ye bear malice against him that wounded you ?’ 

‘No, dame, God forbid; my arm is quite well, and I have 
always said the shot was discharged by accident. I should 
be glad to tell the young man so himself.’ 

‘Then do what I bid ye,’ answered Meg Merrilies, and 
ye’ll do him mair gude than ever he did you ill ; for if he was 
left to his ill-wishers he would be a bloody corpse ere morn, 
or a banished man; but there’s Ane abune a’. Do as I bid 
you; send back the soldiers to Portanferry. There’s nae 
mair fear o’ Hazlewood House than there’s o’ Crufifel Fell.’ 
And she vanished with her usual celerity of pace. 

It would seem that the appearance of this female, and the 
mixture of frenzy and enthusiasm in her manner, seldom 
failed to produce the strongest impression upon those whom 
she addressed. Her words, though wild, were too plain and 
intelligible for actual madness, and yet too vehement and ex- 
travagant for sober-minded communication. She seemed 
acting under the influence of an imagination rather strongly 
excited than deranged ; and it is wonderful how palpably the 
difference in such cases is impressed upon the mind of the 
auditor. This may account for the attention with which her 
strange and mysterious hints were heard and acted upon. It 
is certain, at least, that young Hazlewood was strongly im- 
pressed by her sudden appearance and imperative tone. He 
rode to Hazlewood at a brisk pace. It had been dark for 
some time before he reached the house, and on his arrival 
there he saw a confirmation of what the sibyl had hinted. 

Thirty dragoon horses stood under a shed near the offices, 
with their bridles linked together. Three or four soldiers 
attended as a guard, while others stamped up and down with 
their long broadswords and heavy boots in front of the house. 
Hazlewood asked a non-commissioned officer from whence 
they came. 

‘From Portanferry.’ 

‘Had they left any guard there?’ 

‘No; they had been drawn off by order of Sir Robert 
Hazlewood for defence of his house against an attack which 
was threatened by the smugglers.’ 

346 


GUY MANNERING 


Charles Hazlewood instantly went in quest of his father, 
and having paid his respects to him upon his return, re- 
quested to know upon what account he had thought it neces- 
sary to send for a military escort. Sir Robert assured his 
son in reply that, from the information, intelligence, and 
tidings which had been communicated to, and laid before 
him, he had the deepest reason to believe, credit, and be con- 
vinced that a riotous assault would that night be attempted 
and perpetrated against Hazlewood House by a set of smug- 
glers, gipsies, and other desperadoes. 

‘And what, my dear sir,’ said his son, ‘should direct the 
fury of such persons against ours rather than any other house 
in the country?’ 

‘I should rather think, suppose, and be of opinion, sir,’ 
answered Sir Robert, ‘with deference to your wisdom and 
experience, that on these occasions and times the vengeance 
of such persons is directed or levelled against the most im- 
portant and distinguished in point of rank, talent, birth, and 
situation who have checked, interfered with, and discounte- 
nanced their unlawful and illegal and criminal actions or 
deeds.’ 

Young Hazlewood, who knew his father’s foible, answered, 
that the cause of his surprise did not lie where Sir Robert 
apprehended, but that he only wondered they should think 
of attacking a house where there were so many servants, and 
where a signal to the neighbouring tenants could call in such 
strong assistance; and added, that he doubted much whether 
the reputation of the family would not in some degree suffer 
from calling soldiers from their duty at the custom-house to 
protect them, as if they were not sufficiently strong to de- 
fend themselves upon any ordinary occasion. He even hinted 
that, in case their house’s enemies should observe that this 
precaution had been taken unnecessarily, there would be no 
end of their sarcasms. 

Sir Robert Hazlewood was rather puzzled at this intima- 
tion, for, like most dull men, he heartily hated and feared 
ridicule. He gathered himself up and looked with a sort of 
pompous embarrassment, ^ as if he wished to be thought to 
despise the opinion of the public, which in reality he dreaded. 

‘I really should have thought,’ he said, ‘that the injury 

347 


GUY MANNERING 


which had already been aimed at my house in your person 
being the next heir and representative of the Hazlewood 
family, failing me — I should have thought and believed, I 
say, that this would have justified me sufficiently in the eyes 
of the most respectable and the greater part of the people for 
taking such precautions as are calculated to prevent and im- 
pede a repetition of outrage/ 

‘Really, sir,' said Charles, ‘I must remind you of what I 
have often said before, that I am positive the discharge of the 
piece was accidental/ 

‘Sir, it was not accidental,' said his father, angrily ; ‘but 
you will be wiser than your blders/ 

‘Really, sir,' replied Hazlewood, ‘in what so intimately con- 
cerns myself ' 

‘Sir, it does not concern you but in a very secondary de- 
gree; that is, it does not concern you, as a giddy young fel- 
low who takes pleasure in contradicting his father; but it 
concerns the country, sir, and the county, sir, and the public, 
sir, and the kingdom of Scotland, in so far as the interest of 
the Hazlewood family, sir, is committed and interested and 
put in peril, in, by, and through you, sir. And the fellow 
is in safe custody, and Mr. Glossin thinks ' 

‘Mr. Glossin, sir?' 

‘Yes, sir, the gentleman who has purchased Ellangowan; 
you know who I mean, I suppose ?' 

‘Yes, sir,' answered the young man; ‘but I should hardly 
have expected to hear you quote such authority. Why, this 
fellow — all the world knows him to be sordid, mean, tricking, 
and I suspect him to be worse. And you yourself, my dear 
sir, when did you call such a person a gentleman in your life 
before ?' 

‘Why, Charles, I did not mean gentleman in the precise 
sense and meaning, and restricted and proper use, to which, 
no doubt, the phrase ought legitimately to be confined ; but I 
meant to use it relatively, as marking something of that state 
to which he has elevated and raised himself ; as designing, in 
short, a decent and wealthy and estimable sort of a person.' 

‘Allow me to ask, sir,’ said Charles, ‘if it was by this man's 
orders that the guard was drawn from Portanferry ?' 

‘Sir,' replied the Baronet, ‘I do apprehend that Mr. Glossin 

348 


GUY MANNERING 


would not presume to give orders, or even an opinion, unless 
asked, in a matter in which Hazlewood House and the house 
of Hazlewood — meaning by the one this mansion-house of 
my family, and by the other, typically, metaphorically, and 
parabolically, the family itself, — I say, then, where the house 
of Hazlewood, or Hazlewood House, was so immediately 
concerned/ 

‘I presume, however, sir,’ said the son, 'this Glossin ap- 
proved of the proposal?’ 

‘Sir,’ replied his father, ‘I thought it decent and right and 
proper to consult him as the nearest magistrate as soon as 
report of the intended outrage reached my ears ; and although 
he declined, out of deference and respect, as became our 
relative situations, to concur in the order, yet he did entirely 
approve of my arrangement.’ 

At this moment a horse’s feet were heard coming very fast 
up the avenue. In a few minutes the door opened, and Mr. 
Mac-Morlan presented himself. ‘I am under great concern 
to intrude. Sir Robert, but ’ 

‘Give me leave, Mr. Mac-Morlan,’ said Sir Robert, with a 
gracious flourish of welcome; ‘this is no intrusion, sir; for, 
your situation as sheriff-substitute calling upon you to attend 
to the peace of the county, and you, doubtless, feeling your- 
self particularly called upon to protect Hazlewood House, 
you have an acknowledged and admitted and undeniable 
right, sir, to enter the house of the first gentleman in Scot- 
land uninvited — always presuming you to be called there by 
the duty of your office.’ 

‘It is indeed the duty of my office,’ said Mac-Morlan, who 
waited with impatience an opportunity to speak, ‘that makes 
me an intruder.’ 

‘No intrusion!’ reiterated the Baronet, gracefully waving 
his hand. 

‘But permit me to say, Sir Robert,’ said the sheriff-sub- 
stitute, ‘I do not come with the purpose of remaining here, 
but to recall these soldiers to Portanferry, and to assure you 
that I will answer for the safety of your house.’ 

‘To withdraw the guard from Hazlewood House!’ ex- 
claimed the proprietor in mingled displeasure and surprise; 
‘and you will be answerable for it ! And, pray, who are you, 

349 


GUY MANNERING 


sir, that I should take your security and caution and pledge, 
official or personal, for the safety of Hazlewood House? I 
think, sir, and believe, sir, and am of opinion, sir, that if any 
one of these family pictures were deranged or destroyed or 
injured it would be difficult for me to make up the loss upon 
the guarantee which you so obligingly offer me/ 

‘In that case I shall be sorry for it. Sir Robert,’ answered 
the downright Mac-Morlan ; ‘but I presume I may escape the 
pain of feeling my conduct the cause of such irreparable loss, 
as I can assure you there will be no attempt upon Hazlewood 
House whatever, and I have received information which in- 
duces me to suspect that the rumour was put afloat merely 
in order to occasion the removal of the soldiers from Portan- 
ferry. And under this strong belief and conviction I must 
exert my authority as sheriff and chief magistrate of police 
to order the whole, or greater part of them, back again. I 
regret much that by my accidental absence a good deal of 
delay has already taken place, and we shall not now reach 
Portanferry until it is late.’ 

As Mr. Mac-Morlan was the superior magistrate, and ex- 
pressed himself peremptory in the purpose of acting as such, 
the Baronet, though highly offended, could only say, ‘Very 
well, sir ; it is very well. Nay, sir, take them all with you ; I 
am far from desiring any to be left here, sir. We, sir, can 
protect ourselves, sir. But you will have the goodness to 
observe, sir, that you are acting on your own proper risk, sir, 
and peril, sir, and responsibility, sir, if anything shall happen 
or befall to Hazlewood House, sir, or the inhabitants, sir, or 
to the furniture and paintings, sir.’ 

‘I am acting to the best of my judgment and information. 
Sir Robert,’ said Mac-Morlan, ‘and I must pray of you to 
believe so, and to pardon me accordingly. I beg you to ob- 
serve it is no time for ceremony; it is already very. late.’ 

But Sir Robert, without deigning to listen to his apologies, 
immediately employed himself with much parade in arming 
and arraying his domestics. Charles Hazlewood longed to 
accompany the military, which were about to depart for 
Portanferry, and which were now drawn up and mounted by 
direction and under the guidance of Mr. Mac-Morlan, as the 
civil magistrate. But it would have given just pain and 

350 


GUY MANNERING 


offence to his father to have left at a moment when he con- 
ceived himself and his mansion-house in danger. Young 
Hazlewood therefore gazed from a window with suppressed 
regret and displeasure, until he heard the officer give the 
word of command — ‘From the right to the front, by files, 
^^■^•■rch. Leading file, to the right wheel. Trot.^ The whole 
party of soldiers then getting into a sharp and uniform pace, 
were soon lost among the trees, and the noise of the hoofs 
died speedily away in the distance. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Wi’ coulters and wi’ forehammers 
We garr’d the bars bang merrily. 

Until we came to the inner prison, 

Where Willie o’ Kinmont he did lie. 

Old Border Ballad, 

W E return to Portanferry, and to Bertram and his hon- 
est-hearted friend, whom we left most innocent in- 
habitants of a place built for the guilty. The slumbers of 
the farmer were as sound as it was possible. 

But Bertram’s first heavy sleep passed away long before 
midnight, nor could he again recover that state of oblivion. 
Added to the uncertain and uncomfortable state of his mind, 
his body felt feverish and oppressed. This was chiefly owing 
to the close and confined air of the small apartment in which 
they slept. After enduring for some time the broiling and 
suffocating feeling attendant upon such an atmosphere, he 
rose to endeavour to open the window of the apartment, and 
thus to procure a change of air. Alas ! the first trial reminded 
him that he was in jail, and that the building being contrived 
for security, not comfort, the means of procuring fresh air 
were not left at the disposal of the wretched inhabitants. 

Disappointed in this attempt, he stood by the unmanageable 
window for some time. Little Wasp, though oppressed with 
the fatigue of his 'journey on the preceding day, crept out of 
bed after his master, and stood by him rubbing his shaggy 
coat against his legs, and expressing by a murmuring sound 
the delight which he felt at being restored to him. Thus 

351 


GUY MANNERING 


accompanied, and waiting until the feverish feeling which at 
present agitated his blood should subside into a desire for 
warmth and slumber, Bertram remained for some time look- 
ing out upon the sea. 

The tide was now nearly full, and dashed hoarse and near 
below the base of the building. Now and then a large wave 
reached even the barrier or bulwark which defended the 
foundation of the house, and was flung upon it with greater 
force and noise than those which only broke upon the sand. 
Far in the distance, under the indistinct light of a hazy and 
often over-clouded moon, the ocean rolled its multitudinous 
complication of waves, crossing, bursting, and mingling with 
each other. 

‘A wild and dim spectacle,’ said Bertram to himself, 'like 
those crossing tides of fate which have tossed me about the 
world from my. infancy upward! When will this uncer- 
tainty cease, and how soon shall I be permitted to look out 
for a tranquil home, where I may cultivate in quiet, and with- 
out dread and perplexity, those arts of peace from which 
my cares have been hitherto so forcibly diverted? The ear 
of Fancy, it is said, can discover the voice of sea-nymphs and 
tritons amid the bursting murmurs of the ocean; would that 
I could do so, and that some siren or Proteus would arise 
from these billows to unriddle for me the strange maze of 
fate in which I am so deeply entangled ! Happy friend !’ he 
said, looking at the bed where Dinmont had deposited his 
bulky person, ‘thy cares are confined to the narrow round of 
a healthy and thriving occupation! Thou canst lay them 
aside at pleasure, and enjoy the deep repose of body and 
niind which wholesome labour has prepared for thee !’ 

At this moment his reflections were broken by little Wasp, 
who, attempting to spring up against the window, began to 
yelp and bark most furiously. The sounds reached Din- 
mont’s ears, but without dissipating the illusion which had 
transported him from this wretched apartment to the free air 
of his own green hills. ‘Hoy, Yarrow, man! far yaud, far 
yaud!’ he muttered between his teeth, imagining, doubtless, 
that he was calling to his sheep-dog, and hounding him in 
shepherds’ phrase against some intruders on the grazing. 
The continued barking of the terrier within was answered by 

352 


GUY MANNERING 


the angry challenge of the mastiff in the courtyard, which 
had for a long time been silent, excepting only an occasional 
short and deep note, uttered when the moon shone suddenly 
from among the clouds. Now his clamour was continued 
and furious, and seemed to be excited by some disturbance 
distinct from the barking of Wasp, which had first given him 
the alarm, and which, with much trouble, his master had con- 
trived to still into an angry note of low growling. 

At last Bertram, whose attention was now fully awakened, 
conceived that he saw a boat upon the sea, and heard in good 
earnest the sound of oars and of human voices mingling with 
the dash of the billows. ‘Some benighted fishermen,’ he 
thought, ‘or perhaps some of the desperate traders from the 
Isle of Man. They are very hardy, however, to approach so 
near to the custom-house, where there must be sentinels. It 
is a large boat, like a long-boat, and full of people; perhaps 
it belongs to the revenue service.’ Bertram was confirmed in 
this last opinion by observing that the boat made for a little 
quay which ran into the sea behind the custom-house, and, 
jumping ashore one after another, the crew, to the number 
of twenty hands, glided secretly up a small lane which divided 
the custom-house from the bridewell, and disappeared 
from his sight, leaving only two persons to take care of the 
boat. 

The dash of these men’s oars at first, and latterly the sup- 
pressed sounds of their voices, had excited the wrath of the 
wakeful sentinel in the courtyard, who now exalted his deep 
voice into such a horrid and continuous din that it awakened 
his brute master, as savage a ban-dog as himself. His cry 
from a window, of ‘How now, Tearum, what’s the matter, 
sir? down, d — n ye, down!’ produced no abatement of Tear- 
um’s vociferation, which in part prevented his master from 
hearing the sounds of alarm which his ferocious vigilance was 
in the act of challenging. But the mate of the two-legged 
Cerberus was gifted with sharper ears than her husband. 
She also was now at the window. ‘B — t ye, gae down and let 
loose the dog,’ she said ; ‘they’re sporting the door of the cus- 
tom-house, and the auld sap at Hazlewood House has ordered 
off the guard. But ye hae mair heart than a cat.’ And 
down the Amazon sallied to perform the task herself, while 

353 


GUY MANNERING 


her helpmate, more jealous of insurrection within doors than 
of storm from without, went from cell to cell to see that 
the inhabitants of each were carefully secured. 

These latter sounds with which we have made the reader 
acquainted had their origin in front of the house, and were 
consequently imperfectly heard by Bertram, whose apartment, 
as we have already noticed, looked from the back part of the 
building upon the sea. He heard, however, a stir and tumult 
in the house, which did not seem to accord with the stern 
seclusion of a prison at the hour of midnight, and, connecting 
them with the arrival of an armed boat at that dead hour, 
could not but suppose that something extraordinary was 
about to take place. In this belief he shook Dinmont by the 
shoulder. ‘Eh! Ay! Oh! Ailie, woman, it’s no time to 
get up yet,’ groaned the sleeping man of the mountains. 
More roughly shaken, however, he gathered himself up, 
shook his ears, and asked, ‘In the name of Providence, what’s 
the matter?’ 

‘That I can’t tell you,’ replied Bertram; ‘but either the 
place is on fire or some extraordinary thing is about to 
happen. Are you not sensible of a smell of fire? Do you 
not hear what a noise there is of clashing doors within the 
house and of hoarse voices, murmurs, and distant shouts on 
the outside? Upon my word, I believe something very ex- 
traordinary has taken place. Get up, for the love of Heaven, 
and let us be on our guard.’ 

Dinmont rose at the idea of danger, as intrepid and un- 
dismayed as any of his ancestors when the beacon-light was 
kindled. ‘Odd, Captain, this is a queer place, they wanna 
let ye out in the day, and they winna let ye sleep in the night. 
Deil, but it wad break my heart in a fortnight. But, Lord- 
sake, what a racket they’re making now ! Odd, I wish we 
had some light. Wasp, Wasp, whisht, hinny; whisht, my 
bonnie man, and let’s hear what they’re doing. Deil’s in ye, 
will ye whisht ?’ 

They sought in vain among the embers the means of light- 
ing their candle, and the noise without still continued. Din- 
mont in his turn had recourse to the window — ‘Lordsake, 
Captain! come here. Odd, they hae broken the custom- 
house !’ 


354 


GUY MANNERING 


Bertram Hastened to the window, and plainly saw a mis- 
cellaneous crowd of smugglers, and blackguards of different 
aescriptions, some carrying lighted torches, others bearing 
packages and barrels down the lane to the boat that was lying 
at the quay, to which two or three other fisher-boats were 
now brought round. They were loading each of these in 
their turn, and one or two had already put off to seaward. 
This speaks for itself,’ said Bertram; ‘but I fear something 
worse has happened. Do you perceive a strong smell of 
smoke, or is it my fancy ?’ 

‘Fancy?’ answered Dinmont, ‘there’s a reek like a killogie. 
Odd, if they burn the custom-house it will catch here, and 
we’ll lunt like a tar-barrel a’ thegither. Eh ! it wad be fear- 
some to be burnt alive for naething, like as if ane had been 
a warlock ! Mac-Guffog, hear ye !’ roaring at the top of his 
voice, ’an ye wad ever hae a haill bane in your skin, let’s out, 
man, let’s out!’ 

The fire began now to rise high, and thick clouds of smoke 
rolled past the window at which Bertram and Dinmont were 
stationed. Sometimes, as the wind pleased, the dim shroud of 
vapour hid everything from their sight; sometimes a red 
glare illuminated both land and sea, and shone full on the 
stern and fierce figures who, wild with ferocious activity, 
were engaged in loading the boats. The fire was at length 
triumphant, and spouted in jets of flame out at each window 
of the burning building, while huge flakes of flaming ma- 
terials came driving on the wind against the adjoining prison, 
and rolling a dark canopy of smoke over all the neighbour- 
hood. The shouts of a furious mob resounded far and wide ; 
for the smugglers in their triumph were joined by all the 
rabble of the little town and neighbourhood, now aroused and 
in complete agitation, notwithstanding the lateness of the 
hour, some from interest in the free trade, and most from 
the general love of mischief and tumult natural to a vulgar 
populace. 

Bertram began to be seriously anxious for their fate. 
There was no stir in the house; it seemed as if the jailor had 
deserted his charge, and left the prison with its wretched in- 
habitants to the mercy of the conflagration which was spread- 
ing: towards them. In the meantime a new and fierce attack 

355 


GUY MANNERING 


was heard upon the outer gate of the correction house, which, 
battered with sledge-hammers and crows, was soon forced. 
The keeper, as great a coward as a bully, with his more 
ferocious wife, had fled; their servants readily surrendered 
the keys. The liberated prisoners, celebrating their deliver- 
ance with the wildest yells of joy, mingled among the mob 
which had given them freedom. 

In the midst of the confusion that ensued three or four of 
the principal smugglers hurried to the apartment of Ber- 
tram with lighted torches, and armed with cutlasses and pis- 
tols. ‘Der deyvil,' said the leader, ‘here’s our mark!’ and 
two of them seized on Bertram ; but one whispered in his ear, 
‘Make no resistance till you are in the street.’ The same in- 
dividual found an instant to say to Dinmont — ‘Follow your 
friend, and help when you see the time come.’ 

In the hurry of the moment Dinmont obeyed and fol- 
lowed close. The two smugglers dragged Bertram along 
the passage, downstairs, through the courtyard, now illumi- 
nated by the glare of fire, and into the narrow street to 
which the gate opened, where in the confusion the gang were 
necessarily in some degree separated from each other. A 
rapid noise, as of a body of horse advancing, seemed to add to 
the disturbance. ‘Hagel and wetter, what is that?’ said the 
leader ; ‘keep together, kinder ; look to the prisoner.’ But in 
spite of his charge the two who held Bertram were the last 
of the party. 

The sounds and signs of violence were heard in front. 
The press became furiously agitated, while some endeavoured 
to defend themselves, others to escape ; shots were fired, and 
the glittering broadswords of the dragoons began to appear 
flashing above the heads of the rioters. ‘Now,’ said the 
warning whisper of the man who held Bertram’s left arm, 
the same who had spoken before, ‘shake off that fellow and 
follow me.’ 

Bertram exerting his strength suddenly and effectually, 
easily burst from the grasp of the man who held his collar 
on the right side. The fellow attempted to draw a pistol, but 
was prostrated by a blow of Dinmont’s fist, which an ox 
could hardly have received without the same humiliation. 
‘Follow me quick,’ said the friendly partizan, and dived 

356 


GUY MANNERING 

through a very narrow and dirty lane which led from the 
main street. 

No pursuit took place. The attention of the smugglers 
had been otherwise and very disagreeably engaged by the 
sudden appearance of Mac-Morlan and the party of horse. 
The loud, manly voice of the provincial magistrate was heard 
proclaiming the Riot Act, and charging ‘all those unlawfully 
assembled to disperse at their own proper peril.’ This inter- 
ruption would, indeed, have happened in time sufficient to 
have prevented the attempt had not the magistrate received 
upon the road some false information which led him to think 
that the smugglers were to land at the bay of Ellangowan. 
Nearly two hours were lost in consequence of this false in- 
telligence, which it may be no lack of charity to suppose that 
Glossin, so deeply interested in the issue of that night’s dar- 
ing attempt, had contrived to throw in Mac-Morlan’s way, 
availing himself of the knowledge that the soldiers had left 
Hazlewood House, which would soon reach an ear so anxious 
as his. 

In the meantime, Bertram followed his guide, and was in 
his turn followed by Dinmont. The shouts of the mob, the 
trampling of the horses, the dropping pistol-shots, sunk 
more and more faintly upon their ears; when at the end of 
the dark lane they found a post-chaise with four horses. ‘Are 
you here, in God’s name ?’ said the guide to the postilion who 
drove the leaders. 

‘Ay, troth am I,’ answered Jock Jabos, ‘and I wish I were 
ony gate else.’ 

‘Open the carriage then. You, gentlemen, get into it; in 
a short time you’ll be in a place of safety; and (to Bertram) 
remember your promise to the gipsy wife !’ 

Bertram, resolving to be passive in the hands of a person 
who had just rendered him such a distinguished piece of 
service, got into the chaise as directed. Dinmont followed; 
Wasp, who had kept close by them, sprung in at the same 
time, and the carriage drove off very fast. ‘Have a care 
o’ me,’ said Dinmont, ‘but this is the queerest thing yet! 
Odd, I trust they’ll no coup us. And then what’s to come o’ 
Dumple? I would rather be on his back than in the Deuke’s 
coach, God bless him.’ 


357 


GUY MANNERING 


Bertram observed, that they could not go at that rapid 
rate to any very great distance without changing horses, and 
that they might insist upon remaining till daylight at the 
first inn they stopped at, or at least upon being made ac- 
quainted with the purpose and termination of their journey, 
and Mr. Dinmont might there give directions about his faith- 
ful horse, which would probably be safe at the stables where 
he had left him. ‘Aweel, aweel, e’en sae be it for Dandie. 
Odd, if we were ance out o’ this trindling kist o’ a thing, I 
am thinking they wad find it hard wark to gar us gang ony 
gate but where we liked oursells.’ 

While he thus spoke the carriage, making a sudden turn, 
showed them through the left window the village at some dis- 
tance, still widely beaconed by the fire, which, having reached 
a store-house wherein spirits were deposited, now rose high 
into the air, a wavering column of brilliant light. They had 
not long time to admire this spectacle, for another turn of 
the road carried them into a close lane between plantations, 
through which the chaise proceeded in nearly total darkness, 
but with unabated speed. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

The night drave on wi’ sangs and clatter. 

And aye the ale was growing better. 

Tam o’ Shanter. 

W E must now return to Woodbourne, which, it may be 
remembered, we left just after the Colonel had given 
some directions to his confidential servant. When he re- 
turned, his absence of mind, and an unusual expression of 
thought and anxiety upon his features, struck the ladies, 
whom he joined in the drawing-room. Mannering was not, 
however, a man to be questioned, even by those whom he 
most loved, upon the cause of the mental agitation which 
these signs expressed. The hour of tea arrived, and the 
party were partaking of that refreshment in silence when a 
carriage drove up to the door, and the bell announced the 
arrival of a visitor. ‘Surely,’ said Mannering, ‘it is too soon 
by some hours.’ 


358 


GUYi MANNERING 

There was a short pause, when Barnes, opening the door 
of the saloon, announced Mr. Pleydell. In marched the law- 
yer, whose well-brushed black coat and well-powdered wig, 
together with his point ruffles, brown silk stockings, highly- 
varnished shoes, and gold buckles, exhibited the pains which 
the old gentleman had taken to prepare his person for the 
ladies’ society. He was welcomed by Mannering with a 
hearty shake by the hand. ‘The very man I wished to see at 
this moment !’ 

‘Yes,’ said the Counsellor, ‘I told you I would take the 
first opportunity ; so I have ventured to leave the court for a 
week in session time — no common sacrifice ; but I had a notion 
I could be useful, and I was to attend a proof here about the 
same time. But will you not introduce me to the young 
ladies ? Ah ! there is one I should have known at once from 
her family likeness ! Miss Lucy Bertram, my love, I am most 
happy to see you.’ And he folded her in his arms, and gave 
her a hearty kiss on each side of the face, to which Lucy sub- 
mitted in blushing resignation. 

‘On n'arrete pas dans un si beau chemin/ continued the gay 
old gentleman, and, as the Colonel presented him to Julia, 
took the same liberty with that fair lady’s cheek. Julia 
laughed, coloured, and disengaged herself. ‘I beg a thou- 
sand pardons,’ said the lawyer, with a bow which was not at 
all professionally awkward ; ‘age and old fashions give privi- 
leges, and I can hardly say whether I am most sorry just 
now at being too well entitled to claim them at all, or happy 
in having such an opportunity to exercise them so agree- 
ably.’ 

‘Upon my word, sir,’ said Miss Mannering, laughing, ‘if 
you make such flattering apologies we shall begin to doubt 
whether we can admit you to shelter yourself under your 
alleged qualifications.’ 

‘I can assure you, Julia,’ said the Colonel, ‘you are per- 
fectly right. My friend the Counsellor is a dangerous person ; 
the last time I had the pleasure of seeing him he was clos- 
eted with a fair lady who had granted him a fete-d-tete at 
eight in the morning.’ 

‘Ay, but. Colonel,’ said the Counsellor, ‘you should add, I 
was more indebted to my chocolate than my charms for so 

359 


GUY\ MANNERING 


distinguished a favour from a person of such propriety of 
demeanour as Mrs. Rebecca.’ 

‘And that should remind me, Mr. Pleydell/ said Julia, ‘to 
offer you tea; that is, supposing you have dined.’ 

‘Anything, Miss Mannering, from your hands,’ answered 
the gallant jurisconsult; ‘yes, I have dined; that is to say, as 
people dine at a Scotch inn.’ 

‘And that is indifferently enough,’ said the Colonel, with 
his hand upon the bell-handle ; ‘give me leave to order some- 
thing.’ 

‘Why, to say truth,’ replied Mr. Pleydell, ‘I had rather not. 
I have been inquiring into that matter, for you must know I 
stopped an instant below to pull off my boot-hose, “a world 
too wide for my shrunk shanks,” glancing down with some 
complacency upon limbs which looked very well for his time 
of life, ‘and I had some conversation with your Barnes and a 
very intelligent person whom I presume to be the house- 
keeper; and it was settled among us, tota re perspecta , — I 
beg Miss Mannering’s pardon for my Latin — that the old 
lady should add to your light family supper the more sub- 
stantial refreshment of a brace of wild ducks. I told her 
(always under deep Submission) my poor thoughts about the 
sauce, which concurred exactly with her own; and, if you 
please, I would rather wait till they are ready before eating 
anything solid.’ 

‘And we will anticipate our usual hour of supper,’ said the 
Colonel. 

‘With all my heart,’ said Pleydell, ‘providing I do not lose 
the ladies’ company a moment the sooner. I am of counsel 
with my old friend Burnet;^ I love the coena, the supper of 
the ancients, the pleasant meal and social glass that wash out 
of one’s mind the cobwebs that business or gloom have been 
spinning in our brains all day.’ 

The vivacity of Mr. Pleydell’s look and manner, and the 
quietness with which he made himself at home on the subject 
of his little epicurean comforts, amused the ladies, but partic- 
ularly Miss Mannering, who immediately gave the Counsellor 
a great deal of flattering attention; and more pretty things 


' See Lord Monboddo. Note 12, 

360 


GUY MANNERING 


were said on both sides during the service of the tea-table than 
we have leisure to repeat. 

As soon as this was over, Mannering led the Counsellor by 
the arm into a small study which opened from the saloon, and 
where, according to the custom of the family, there were 
always lights and a good fire in the evening. 

‘I see,’ said Mr. Pleydell, ‘you have got something to tell me 
about the Ellangowan business. Is it terrestrial or celestial? 
What says my military Albumazar ? Have you calculated the 
course of futurity? have you consulted your ephemerides, 
your almochoden, your almuten?’ 

‘No, truly. Counsellor,’ replied Mannering, ‘you are the 
only Ptolemy I intend to resort to upon the present occasion. 
A second Prospero, I have broken my staff and drowned my 
book far beyond plummet depth. But I have great news not- 
withstanding. Meg Merrilies, our Egyptian sibyl, has ap- 
peared to the Dominie this very day, and, as I conjecture, has 
frightened the honest man not a little.’ 

‘Indeed?’ 

‘Ay, and she has done me the honour to open a correspond- 
ence with me, supposing me to be as deep in astrological mys- 
teries as when we first met. Here is her scroll, delivered to 
me by the Dominie.’ 

Pleydell put on his spectacles. ‘A vile greasy scrawl, in- 
deed; and the letters are uncial or semi-uncial, as somebody 
calls your large text hand, and in size and perpendicularity 
resemble the ribs of a roasted pig ; I can hardly make it out.’ 

‘Read aloud,’ said Mannering. 

‘I will try,’ answered the Lawyer. ‘ ‘'You are a good 
seeker, hut a bad Under; you set yourself to prop a falling 
house, hut had a gey guess it would rise again. Lend your 
hand to the wark thafs near, as you lent your ee to the weird 
that was far. Have a carriage this night hy ten o’clock at 
the end of the Crooked Dykes at Portanferry, and let it bring 
the folk to Woodhourne that shall ask them, if they he there 
IN God’s name.” — Stay, here follows some poetry — 

Dark shall he light, 

And wrong done to right, 

When Bertramls right and Bertram's might 
Shall meet on Ellangowan’s height.’’ 

361 


GUY MANNERING 


A most mystic epistle truly, and closes in a vein of 
poetry worthy of the Cumsean sibyl. And what have you 
done ?’ 

‘Why,’ said Mannering, rather reluctantly, ‘I was loth to 
risk any opportunity of throwing light on this business. The 
woman is perhaps crazed, and these effusions may arise only 
from visions of her imagination ; but you were of opinion 
that she knew more of that strange story than she ever told.’ 

‘And so,’ said Pleydell, ‘you sent a carriage to the place 
named ?’ 

‘You will laugh at me if I own I did,’ replied the Colonel. 

‘Who, I ?’ replied the Advocate. ‘No, truly, I think it was 
the wisest thing you could do.’ 

‘Yes,’ answered Mannering, well pleased to have escaped 
the ridicule he apprehended; ‘you know the worst is paying 
the chaise-hire. I sent a post-chaise and four from Kipple- 
tringan, with instructions corresponding to the letter; the 
horses will have a long and cold station on the outpost to- 
night if our intelligence be false.’ 

‘Ay, but I think it will prove otherwise,’ said the Lawyer. 
‘This woman has played a part till she believes it; or, if she 
be a thorough-paced impostor, without a single grain of self- 
delusion to qualify her knavery, still she may think herself 
bound to act in character ; this I know, that I could get noth- 
ing out of her by the common modes of interrogation, and the 
wisest thing we can do .is to give her an opportunity of mak- 
ing the discovery her own way. And now have you more to 
say, or shall we go to the ladies ?’ 

‘Why, my mind is uncommonly agitated,’ answered the 
Colonel, ‘and — but I really have no more to say ; only I shall 
count the minutes till the carriage returns ; but you cannot be 
expected to be so anxious.’ 

‘Why, no ; use is all in all,’ said the more experienced law- 
yer; ‘I am much interested certainly, but I think I shall be 
able to survive the interval, if the ladies will afford us some 
music.’ 

‘And with the assistance of the wild ducks, by and by?’ 
suggested Mannering. 

‘True, Colonel; a lawyer’s anxiety about the fate of the 
most interesting cause has seldom spoiled either his sleep or 

362 


GUY MANNEIUNG 


digestion.^ And yet I shall be very eager to hear the rattle of 
these wheels on their return, notwithstanding/ 

So saying, he rose and led the way into the next room, 
where Miss Mannering, at his request, took her seat at the 
harpsichord. Lucy Bertram, who sung her native melodies 
very sweetly, was accompanied by her friend upon the instru- 
ment, and Julia afterwards performed some of Scarlatti’s 
sonatas with great brilliancy. The old lawyer, scraping a lit- 
tle upon the violoncello, and being a member of the gentle- 
men’s concert in Edinburgh, was so greatly delighted with 
this mode of spending the evening that I doubt if he once 
thought of the wild ducks until Barnes informed the company 
that supper was ready. 

‘Tell Mrs. Allan to have something in readiness,’ said the 
Colonel; ‘I expect — that is, I hope — perhaps some company 
may be here to-night ; and let the men sit up, and do not lock 
the upper gate on the lawn until I desire you.’ 

‘Lord, sir,’ said Julia, ‘whom can you possibly expect to- 
night ?’ 

‘Why, some persons, strangers to me, talked of calling in 
the evening on business,’ answered her father, not without 
embarrassment, for he would have little brooked a disappoint- 
ment which might have thrown ridicule on his judgment; ‘it 
it quite uncertain.’ 

‘Well, we shall not pardon them for disturbing our party,’ 
said Julia, ‘unless they bring as much good-humour and as 
susceptible hearts as my friend and admirer, for so he has 
dubbed himself, Mr. Pleydell.’ 

‘Ah, Miss Julia,’ said Pleydell, offering his arm with an 
air of gallantry to conduct her into the eating-room, ‘the 
time has been, when I returned from Utrecht in the year 

1738 ’ 

‘Pray don’t talk of it,’ answered the young lady; ‘we like 
you much better as you are. Utrecht, in Heaven’s name ! I 
•daresay you have spent all the intervening years in get- 
ting rid so completely of the effects of your Dutch educa- 
tion.’ 

‘O forgive me. Miss Mannering,’ said the Lawyer, ‘the 


^ See Lawyers’ Sleepless Nights. Note 13,. 

363 


GUY MANNERING 


Dutch are a much more accomplished people in point of gal- 
lantry than their volatile neighbours are willing to admit. 
They are constant as clock-work in their attentions.’ 

T should tire of that,’ said Julia. 

‘Imperturbable in their good temper,’ continued Pleydell. 

‘Worse and worse,’ said the young lady. 

‘And then,’ said the old beau gargon, ‘although for six 
times three hundred and sixty-five days your swain has placed 
the capuchin round your neck, and the stove under your feet, 
and driven your little sledge upon the ice in winter, and your 
cabriole through the dust in summer, you may dismiss him 
at once, without reason or apology, upon the two thousand 
one hundred and ninetieth day, which, according to my hasty 
calculation, and without reckoning leap-years, will complete 
the cycle of the supposed adoration, and that without your 
amiable feelings having the slightest occasion to be alarmed 
for the consequences to those of Mynheer.’ 

‘Well,’ replied Julia, ‘that last is truly a Dutch recommen- 
dation, Mr. Pleydell; crystal and hearts would lose all their 
merit in the world if it were not for their fragility.’ 

‘Why, upon that point of the argument. Miss Mannering, 
it is as difficult to find a heart that will break as a glass that 
will not ; and for that reason I would press the value of mine 
own, were it not that I see Mr. Sampson’s eyes have been 
closed, and his hands clasped for some time, attending the 
end of our conference to begin the grace. And, to say the 
truth, the appearance of the wild ducks is very appetising.’ 
So saying, the worthy Counsellor sat himself to table, and laid 
aside his gallantry for awhile to do honour to the good things 
placed before him. Nothing further is recorded of him for 
some time, excepting an observation that the ducks were 
roasted to a single turn, and that Mrs. Allan’s sauce of claret, 
lemon, and cayenne was beyond praise. 

‘I see,’ said Miss Mannering, ‘I have a formidable rival in 
Mr. Pleydell’s favour, even on the very first night of his 
avowed admiration.’ 

‘Pardon me, my fair lady,’ answered the Counsellor, ‘your 
avowed rigour alone has induced me to commit the solecism 
of eating a good supper in your presence ; how shall I support 
your frowns without reinforcing my strength? Upon the 

364 


GUY MANNERING 


same principle, and no other, I will ask permission to drink 
wine with you/ 

‘This is the fashion of Utrecht also, I suppose, Mr. Pley- 
dellP 

‘Forgive me, madam,’ answered the Counsellor; ‘the French 
themselves, the patterns of all that is gallant, term their tav- 
ernkeepers restaurateurs, alluding, doubtless, to the relief they 
afford the disconsolate lover when bowed down to the earth 
by his mistress’s severity. My own case requires so much 
relief that I must trouble you for that other wing, Mr. Samp- 
son, without prejudice to my afterwards applying to Miss 
Bertram for a tart. Be pleased to tear the wing, sir, instead 
of cutting it off. Mr. Barnes will assist you, Mr. Sampson; 
thank you, sir ; and, Mr. Barnes, a glass of ale, if you please.’ 

While the old gentleman, pleased with Miss Mannering’s 
liveliness and attention, rattled away for her amusement and 
his own, the impatience of Colonel Mannering began to ex- 
ceed all bounds. He declined sitting down at table, under 
pretence that he never eat supper; and traversed the parlour 
in which they were with hasty and impatient steps, now 
throwing up the window to gaze upon the dark lawn, now lis- 
tening for fhe remote sound of the carriage advancing up the 
avenue. At length, in a feeling of uncontrollable impatience, 
he left the room, took his hat and cloak, and pursued his 
walk up the avenue, as if his so doing would hasten the ap- 
proach of those whom he desired to see. ‘I really wish,’ said 
Miss Bertram, ‘Colonel Mannering would not venture out 
after nightfall. You must have heard, Mr. Pley dell, .what a 
cruel fright we had.’ 

‘O, with the smugglers ?’ replied the Advocate ; ‘they are 
old friends of mine. I was the means of bringing some of 
them to justice a long time since, when sheriff of this county.’ 

‘And then the alarm we had immediately afterwards,’ add- 
ed Miss Bertram, ‘from the vengeance of one of these 
wretches.’ 

‘When young Hazlewood was hurt ; I heard of that too.’ 

‘Imagine, my dear Mr. Pleydell,’ continued Lucy, ‘how 
much Miss Mannering and I were alarmed when a ruffian, 
equally dreadful for his great strength and the sternness of 
his features, rushed out upon us !’ 

365 


GUY MANNERING 


'You must know, Mr. Pleydell,’ said Julia, unable to sup- 
press her resentment at this undesigned aspersion of her ad- 
mirer, ‘that young Hazlewood is so handsome in the eyes of 
the young ladies of this country that they think every person 
shocking who comes near him.^ 

‘Oho!’ thought Pleydell, who was by profession an obser- 
ver of tones and gestures, ‘there’s something wrong here be- 
tween my young friends.’ — ‘Well, Miss Mannering, I have 
not seen young Hazlewood since he was a boy, so the ladies 
may be perfectly right ; but I can assure you, in spite of your 
scorn, that if you want to see handsome men you must go to 
Holland ; the prettiest fellow I ever saw was a Dutchman, in 
spite of his being called Vanbost, or Vanbuster, or some 
such barbarous name. He will not be quite so handsome now, 
to be sure.’ 

It was now Julia’s turn to look a little out of countenance 
at the chance hit of her learned admirer, but that instant the 
Colonel entered the room. ‘I can hear nothing of them yet,’ 
he said ; ‘still, however, we will not separate. Where is Domi- 
nie Sampson?’ 

‘Here, honoured sir.’ 

‘What is that book you hold in your hand, Mr. Samp- 
son ?’ 

‘It’s even the learned De Lyra, sir. I would crave his 
honour Mr. Pleydell’s judgment, always with his best leisure, 
to expound a disputed passage.’ 

‘I am not in the vein, Mr. Sampson,’ answered Pleydell; 
‘here’s metal more attractive. I do not despair to engage 
these two young ladies in a glee or a catch, wherein I, even I 
myself, will adventure myself for the bass part. Hang De 
Lyra, man ; keep him for a fitter season.’ 

The disappointed Dominie shut his ponderous tome, much 
marvelling in his mind how a person possessed of the law- 
yer’s erudition could give his mind to these frivolous toys. 
But the Counsellor, indifferent to the high character for learn- 
ing which he was trifling away, filled himself a large glass 
of Burgundy, and, after preluding a little with a voice 
somewhat the worse for the wear, gave the ladies a courage- 
ous invitation to join in ‘We be Three Poor Mariners,’ and 
accomplished his own part therein with great eclat. 

366 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Are you not withering your roses with sitting up so late, 
my young ladies ?’ said the Colonel. 

‘Not a bit, sir,' answered Julia; ‘your friend Mr. Pleydell 
threatens to become a pupil of Mr. Sampson's to-morrow, so 
we must make the most of our conquest to-night.' 

This led to another musical trial of skill, and that to lively 
conversation. At length, when the solitary sound of one 
o'clock had long since resounded on the ebon ear of night, 
and the next signal of the advance of time was close approach- 
ing, Mannering, whose impatience had long subsided into 
disappointment and despair, looked at his watch and said, 
‘We must now give them up,' when at that instant — But 
what then befell will require a separate chapter. 


CHAPTER L. 


Justice. This does indeed confirm each circumstance 
The gipsy told ! 

No orphan, nor without a friend art thou: 

/ am thy father, here's thy mother, there 
Thy uncle, this thy first cousin, and these 
Are all thy near relations ! 


The Critic. 


S Mannering replaced his watch, he heard a distant and 



JL\. hollow sound. ‘It is a carriage for certain ; no, it is 
but the sound of the wind among the leafless trees. Do come 
to the window, Mr. Pleydell.' The Counsellor, who, with 
his large silk handkerchief in his hand, was expatiating away 
to Julia upon some subject which he thought was interesting, 
obeyed, however, the summons, first wrapping the handker- 
chief round his neck by way of precaution against the cold 
air. The sound of wheels became now very perceptible, and 
Pleydell, as if he had reserved all his curiosity till that mo- 
ment, ran out to the hall. The Colonel rung for Barnes to 
desire that the persons who came in the carriage might be 
shown into a separate room, being altogether uncertain whom 
it might contain. It stopped, however, at the door before his 
purpose could be fully explained. A moment after Mr. Pley- 
dell called out, ‘Here's our Liddesdale friend, I protest, with 
a strapping young fellow of the same calibre.' His voice ar- 


367 


GUY MANNERING 


rested Dinmont, who recognised him with equal surprise and 
pleasure. ‘Odd, if it’s your honour we’ll a’ be as right and 
tight as thack and rape can make us.’ 

But while the farmer stopped to make his bow, Bertram, 
dizzied with the sudden glare of light, and bewildered with 
the circumstances of his situation, almost unconsciously en- 
tered the open door of the parlour, and confronted the Colonel 
who was just advancing towards it. The strong light of the 
apartment left no doubt of his identity, and he himself was 
as much confounded with the appearance of those to whom 
he so unexpectedly presented himself as they were by the 
sight of so utterly unlooked-for an object. It must be re- 
membered that each individual present had their own peculiar 
reasons for looking with terror upon what seemed at first 
sight a spectral apparition. Mannering saw before him the 
man whom he supposed he had killed in India; Julia beheld 
her lover in a most peculiar and hazardous situation; and 
Lucy Bertram at once knew the person who had fired upon 
young Hazlewood. Bertram, who interpreted the fixed and 
motionless astonishment of the Colonel into displeasure at 
his intrusion, hastened to say that it was involuntary, since 
he had been hurried hither without even knowing whither he 
was to be transported. 

‘Mr. Brown, I believe !’ said Colonel Mannering. 

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the young man, modestly, but with firm- 
ness, ‘the same you knew in India ; and who ventures to hope, 
that what you did then know of him is not such as should 
prevent his requesting you would favour him with your at- 
testation to his character as a gentleman and man of honour.’ 

‘Mr. Brown, I have been seldom — never — so much sur- 
prised ; certainly, sir, in whatever passed between us you have 
a right to command my favourable testimony.’ 

At this critical moment entered the Counsellor and Din- 
mont. The former beheld to his astonishment the Colonel 
but just recovering from his surprise, Lucy Bertram ready 
to faint with terror, and Miss Mannering in an agony of 
doubt and apprehension, which she in vain endeavoured to 
disguise or suppress. ‘What is the meaning of all this ?’ said 
he ; ‘has this young fellow brought the Gorgon’s head in his 
hand? let me look at him. By Heaven!’ he muttered to him- 

368 


GUY MANNERING 


self, ‘the very image of old Ellangowan! Yes, the same 
manly form and handsome features, but with a world of 
more intelligence in the face. Yes! the witch has kept her 
word.' Then instantly passing to Lucy, ‘Look at that man. 
Miss Bertram, my dear; have you never seen any one like 
him?' 

Lucy had only ventured one glance at this object of terror, 
by which, however, from his remarkable height and appear- 
ance, she at once recognised the supposed assassin of young 
Hazlewood, a conviction which excluded, of course, the more 
favourable association of ideas which might have occurred 
on a closer view. ‘Don't ask me about him, sir,' said she, 
turning away her eyes; ‘send him away, for Heaven’s sake! 
we shall all be murdered !’ 

‘Murdered ! where’s the poker ?’ said the Advocate in some 
alarm ; ‘but nonsense ! we are three men beside the servants, 
and there is honest Liddesdale, worth half-a-dozen, to boot; 
we have the major vis upon our side. However, here, my 
friend Dandie — Davie — what do they call you? keep between 
that fellow and us for the protection of the ladies.' 

‘Lord ! Mr. Pleydell,' said the astonished farmer, ‘that's 
Captain Brown ; d’ye no ken the Captain ?' 

‘Nay, if he’s a friend of yours we may be safe enough,' 
answered Pleydell ; ‘but keep near him.' 

All this passed with such rapidity that it was over before 
the Dominie had recovered himself from a fit of absence, shut 
the book which he had been studying in a corner, and, ad- 
vancing to obtain a sight of the strangers, exclaimed at once 
upon beholding Bertram, ‘If the grave can give up the dead, 
that is my dear and honoured master !' 

‘We're right after all, by Heaven! I was sure I was right,' 
said the Lawyer ; ‘he is the very image of his father. Come, 
Colonel, what do you think of, that you do not bid your guest 
welcome ? I think — I believe — I trust we're right ; never saw 
such a likeness ! But patience ; Dominie, say not a word. Sit 
down, young gentleman.' 

‘I beg pardon, sir; if I am, as I understand, in Colonel 
Mannering's house, I should wish first to know if my acci- 
dental appearance here gives offence, or if I am welcome ?' 

Mannering instantly made an effort. ‘Welcome? most 

24 


GUY MAN^'IERING 


certainly, especially if you can poilnt out how I can serve you. 

I believe I may have some wrongVs to repair towards you, I 
have often suspected so; but your sudden and unexpected 
appearance, connected with painfUi\ recollections, prevented 
my saying at first, as I now say, that'\whatever has procured 
me the honour of this visit, it is an accetptable one.’ 

Bertram bowed with an air of distant y^et civil acknowledg- 
ment to the grave courtesy of Mannering. \ 

‘Julia, my love, you had better retire. Mr. ' Brown, you will 
excuse my daughter; there are circumstance^s which I per- 
ceive rush upon her recollection.’ 

Miss Mannering rose and retired accordingly,- yet, as she 
passed Bertram, could not suppress the words, ‘l\nfatuated ! 
a second time!’ but so pronounced as to be heand by him 
alone. Miss Bertram accompanied her friend, rfiiuch sur- 
prised, but without venturing a second glance at tine object 
of her terror. Some mistake she saw there was, land was 
unwilling to increase it by denouncing the stranger as an 
assassin. He was known, she saw, to the Colonel, ^and re- 
ceived as a gentleman ; certainly he either was not the person 
she suspected or Hazlewood was right in supposing th^e shot 
accidental. 

The remaining part of the company would have forrlned no 
bad group for a skilful painter. Each was too much em- 
barrassed with his own sensations to observe those o'i the 
others. Bertram most unexpectedly found himself iiii the I 
house of one whom he was alternately disposed to dislike as 
his personal enemy and to respect as the father of Julia. Man- 
nering was struggling between his high sense of courtesy a nd 
hospitality, his joy at finding himself relieved from the guift 
of having shed life in a private quarrel, and the former feeU 
ings of dislike and prejudice, which revived in his haughtw 
mind at the sight of the object against whom he had enter- 
tained them. Sampson, supporting his shaking limbs by 
leaning on the back of a chair, fixed his eyes upon Bertram 
with a staring expression of nervous anxiety which convuhied 
his whole visage. Dinmont, enveloped in his loose shaggy * 
great-coat, and resembling a huge bear erect upon his hind er [ 
legs, stared on the whole scene with great round eyes tlnat j 
witnessed his amazement. 



370 


GUY MANNERING 


The Counsellor alone was in his element : shrewd, prompt, 
and active, he already calculated the prospect of brilliant 
success in a strange, eventful, and mysterious lawsuit, and no 
young monarch, flushed with hopes, and at the head of a 
gallant army, could experience more glee when taking the 
field on his first campaign. He bustled about with great 
energy, and took the arrangement of the whole explanation 
upon himself. 

‘Come, come, gentlemen, sit down; this is all in my pro- 
vince ; you must let me arrange it for you. Sit down, my dear 
Colonel, and let me manage; sit down, Mr. Brown, aut quo- 
cunque alio nomine vocaris; Dominie, take your seat ; draw in 
your chair, honest Liddesdale.' 

‘I dinna ken, Mr. Pleydell,’ said Dinmont, looking at his 
dreadnought coat, then at the handsome furniture of the 
room; T had maybe better gang some gate else, and leave 
ye till your cracks, I’m no just that weel put on.’ 

The Colonel, who by this time recognised Dandie, immedi- 
ately went up and bid him heartily welcome; assuring him 
that, from what he had seen of him in Edinburgh, he was sure 
his rough coat and thick-soled boots would honour a royal 
drawing-room. 

‘Na, na. Colonel, we’re just plain up-the-country folk; but 
nae doubt I would fain hear o’ ony pleasure that was gaun to 
happen the Captain, and I’m sure a’ will gae right if Mr. 
Pleydell will take his bit job in hand.’ 

‘You’re right, Dandie; spoke like a Hieland^ oracle; and 
now be silent. Well, you are all seated at last; take a glass 
of wine till I begin my catechism methodically. And now,’ 
turning to Bertram, ‘my dear boy, do you know who or what 
you are?’ 

In spite of his perplexity the catechumen could not help 
laughing at his commencement, and answered, ‘Indeed, sir, I 
formerly thought I did ; but I own late circumstances have 
made me somewhat uncertain.’ 

‘Then tell us what you formerly thought yourself.’ 


^It may not be unnecessary to tell southern readers that the mountain, 
ous country in the south-western borders of Scotland is called Hieland, though 
totally different from the much more mountainous and more extensive districts 
pf the north, usually accented Hielands. 

371 


GUY MANNERING 


'Why, I was in the habit of thinking and calling myself 
Vanbeest Brown, who served as a cadet or volunteer under 

Colonel Mannering, when he commanded the regiment, 

in which capacity I was not unknown to him/ 

'There,’ said the Colonel, 'I can assure Mr. Brown of his 
identity ; and add, what his modesty may have forgotten, that 
he was distinguished as a young man of talent and spirit.’ 

'So much the better, my dear sir,’ said Mr. Pleydell; 'but 
that is to general character. Mr. Brown must tell us where 
he was born.’ 

'In Scotland, I believe, but the place uncertain.’ i 

'Where educated ?’ 

'In Holland, certainly.’ 

'Do you remember nothing of your early life before you left ] 
Scotland ?’ 

'Very imperfectly; yet I have a strong idea, perhaps more 
deeply impressed upon me by subsequent hard usage, that I 
was during my childhood the object of much solicitude and 
affection. I have an indistinct remembrance of a good-look- 
ing man whom I used to call papa, and of a lady who was 
infirm in health, and who, I think, must have been my mother ; 
but it is an imperfect and confused recollection. I remember 
too a tall, thin, kind-tempered man in black, who used to 
teach me my letters and walk out with me; and I think the 
very last time ’ 

Here the Dominie could contain no longer. While every 
succeeding word served to prove that the child of his bene- 
factor stood before him, he had struggled with the utmost 
difficulty to suppress his emotions; but when the juvenile 
recollections of Bertram turned towards, his tutor and his 
precepts he was compelled to give way to his feelings. He 
rose hastily from his chair, and^ with clasped hands, trem- 
bling limbs, and streaming eyes, called out aloud, 'Harry Ber- 
tram ! look at me ; was I not the man ?’ 

'Yes!’ said Bertram, starting from his seat as if a sudden 
light had burst in upon his mind, 'yes; that was my name! 
And that is the voice and the figure of my kind old 
master !’ 

The Dominie threw himself into his arms, pressed him a 
thousand times to his bosom in convulsions of transport which 

372 


GUY MANNERING 


shook his whole frame, sobbed hysterically, and at length, in 
the emphatic language of Scripture, lifted up his voice and 
wept aloud. Colonel Mannering had recourse to his handker- 
chief ; Pleydell made wry faces, and wiped the glasses of his 
spectacles ; and honest Dinmont, after two loud blubbering 
explosions, exclaimed, ‘Deil’s in the man ! he’s garr’d me do 
that I haena done since my auld mither died.’ 

‘Come, come,’ said the Counsellor at last, ‘silence in the 
court. We have a clever party to contend with ; we must lose 
no time in gathering our information; for anything I know 
there may be something to be done before daybreak.’ 

‘I will order a horse to be saddled if you please,’ said the 
Colonel. 

‘No, no, time enough, time enough. But come. Dominie, 

I have allowed you a competent space to express your feel- 
ings. I must circumduce the term ; you must let me proceed 
in my examination.’ 

The Dominie was habitually obedient to any one who chose 
to impose commands upon him : he sunk back into his chair, 
spread his chequered handkerchief over his face, to serve, as 
I suppose, for the Grecian painter’s veil, and, from the action 
of his folded hands, appeared for a time engaged in the act 
of mental thanksgiving. He then raised his eyes over the 
screen, as if to be assured that the pleasing apparition had not 
melted into air; then again sunk them to resume his internal 
act of devotion, until he felt himself compelled to give at- 
tention to the Counsellor, from the interest which his ques- 
tions excited. 

‘And now,’ said Mr. Pleydell, after several minute inquiries 
concerning his recollection of early events — ‘and now, Mr. 
Bertram, — for I think we ought in future to call you by your 
own proper name — will you have the goodness to let us know 
every particular which you*can recollect concerning the mode 
of your leaving Scotland?’ 

‘Indeed, sir, to say the truth, though the terrible outlines^ 
of that day are strongly impressed upon my memory, yet 
somehow the very terror which fixed them there has in a 
great measure confounded and confused the details. I recol- 
lect, however, that I was walking somewhere or other, in a 
wood, I think ’ 


373 


GUY MANNERING 


*0 yes, it was in Warroch wood, my dear,’ said the I 
Dominie. 

‘Hush, Mr. Sampson,’ said the Lawyer. 

‘Yes, it was in a wood,’ continued Bertram, as long past 
and confused ideas arranged themselves in his reviving recol- 
lection; ‘and some one was with me; this worthy and affec- 
tionate gentleman, I think.’ 

‘O, ay, ay, Harry, Lord bless thee ; it was even I myself.’ 

‘Be silent. Dominie, and don’t interrupt the evidence,’ said | 
Pleydell. ‘And so, sir?’ to Bertram. | 

‘And so, sir,’ continued Bertram, ‘like one of the changes 1 
of a dream, I thought I was on horseback before my guide.’ 1 

‘No, no,’ exclaimed Sampson, ‘never did I put my own | 
limbs, not to say thine, into such peril.’ | 

‘On my word, this is intolerable ! Look ye. Dominie, if you 5 
speak another word till I give you leave, I will read three | 
sentences out of the Black Acts, whisk my cane round my 
head three times, undo all the magic of this night’s work, 
and conjure Harry Bertram back again into Vanbeest 
Brown.’ 

‘Honoured and worthy sir,’ groaned out the Dominie, ‘I 
humbly crave pardon ; it was but verhum volansf 

‘Well, nolens volens, you must hold your tongue,’ said 
Pleydell. 

‘Pray, be silent, Mr. Sampson,’ said the Colonel; ‘it is of 
great consequence to your recovered friend that you permit | 
Mr. Pleydell to proceed in his inquiries.’ 

‘I am mute,’ said the rebuked Dominie. 

‘On a sudden,’ continued Bertram, ‘two or three men 
sprung out upon us, and we were pulled from horseback. I j 
have little recollection of anything else, but that I tried to I 
escape in the midst of a desperate scuffle, and fell into the 
arms of a very tall woman who started from the bushes and 
protected me for some time; the rest is all confusion and 
dread, a dim recollection of a sea-beach and a cave, and of 
some strong potion which lulled me to sleep for a length of 
time. In short, it is all a blank in my memory until I recol- 
lect myself first an ill-used and half-starved cabin-boy aboard 
a sloop, and then a school-boy in Holland, under the protec- 
tion of an old merchant, who had taken some fancy for me.’ 

374 


GUY MANNERING 


‘And what account/ said Mr. Pleydell, ‘did your guardian 
give of your parentage?’ 

‘A very brief one/ answered Bertram, ‘and a charge to in- 
quire no farther. I was given to understand that my father 
was concerned in the smuggling trade carried on on the 
eastern coast of Scotland, and was killed in a skirmish with 
the revenue officers ; that his correspondents in Holland had a 
vessel on the coast at the time, part of the crew of which were 
engaged in the affair, and that they brought me off after it 
was over, from a motive of compassion, as I was left desti- 
tute by my father’s death. As I grew older there was much 
of this story seemed inconsistent with my own recollections, 
but what could I do? I had no means of ascertaining my 
doubts, nor a single friend with whom I could communicate 
or canvass them. The rest of my story is known to Colonel 
Mannering: I went out to India to be a clerk in a Dutch 
house ; their affairs fell into confusion ; I betook myself to 
the military profession, and, I trust, as yet I have not dis- 
graced it.’ 

‘Thou art a fine young fellow, I’ll be bound for thee,’ said 
Pleydell, ‘and since you have wanted a father so long, I wish 
from my heart I could claim the paternity myself. But this 
affair of young Hazlewood ’ 

‘Was merely accidental,’ said Bertram. T was travelling 
in Scotland for pleasure, and, after a week’s residence with 
my friend Mr. Dinmont, with whom I had the good fortune 
to form an accidental acquaintance ’ 

‘It was my gude fortune that,’ said Dinmont. ‘Odd, my 
brains wad hae been knockit out by twa blackguards if it 
hadna been for his four quarters.’ 

‘Shortly after we parted at the town of I lost my 

baggage by thieves, and it was while residing at Kippletrin- 
gan I accidentally met the young gentleman. As I was ap- 
proaching to pay my respects to Miss Mannering, whom I 
had known in India, Mr. Hazlewood, conceiving my appear- 
ance none of the most respectable, commanded me rather 
haughtily to stand back, and so gave occasion to the fray, 
in which I had the misfortune to be the accidental means of 
wounding him. And now, sir, that I have answered all your 
questions ’ 


375 


GUY MANNERING 


'No, no, not quite all/ said Pleydell, winking sagaciously; 
'there are some interrogatories which I shall delay till to- 
morrow, for it is time, I believe, to close the sederunt for this 
night, or rather morning/ 

‘Well, then, sir,^ said the young man, ‘to vary the phrase, 
since I have answered all the questions which you have 
chosen to ask to-night, will you be so good as to tell me who 
you are that take such interest in my affairs, and whom you 
take me to be, since my arrival has occasioned such commo- 
tion ?’ 

‘Why, sir, for myself,’ replied the Counsellor, ‘I am Paulus 
Pleydell, an advocate at the Scottish bar; and for you, it is 
not easy to say distinctly who you are at present, but I trust 
in a short time to hail you by the title of Henry Bertram, 
Esq., representative of one of the oldest families in Scotland 
and heir of tailzie and provision to the estate of Ellango- 
wan. Ay,’ continued he, shutting his eyes and speaking to 
himself, 'we must pass over his father, and serve him heir 
to his grandfather Lewis, the entailer; the only wise man of 
his family that I ever heard of. 

They had now risen to retire to their apartments for the 
night, when Colonel Mannering walked up to Bertram, as he 
stood astonished at the Counsellor’s words. ‘I give you joy,’ 
he said, ‘of the prospects which fate has opened before you. 
I was an early friend of your father, and chanced to be in the 
house of Ellangowan, as unexpectedly as you are now in 
mine, upon the very night in which you were born. I little 
knew the circumstances when — ^but I trust unkindness will be 
forgotten between us. Believe me, your appearance here as 
Mr. Brown, alive and well, has relieved me from most painful 
sensations ; and your right to the name of an old friend ren- 
ders your presence as Mr. Bertram doubly welcome.’ 

‘And my parents?’ said Bertram. 

‘Are both no more ; and the family property has been sold, 
but I trust may be recovered. Whatever is wanted to make 
your right effectual I shall be most happy to supply.’ 

‘Nay, you may leave all that to me,’ said the Counsellor ; 
‘ ’tis my vocation, Hal ; I shall make money of it.’ 

‘I’m sure it’s no for the like o’ me,’ observed Dinmont, ‘to 
Speak to you gentlefolks ; but if siller would help on the Cap- 

376 


GUY MANNERING 


tain’s plea, and they say nae plea gangs on weel without 
it ’ 

'Except on Saturday night,’ said Pleydell. 

'Ay, but when your honour wadna take your fee ye waina 
hae the cause neither, sae I’ll ne’er fash you on a Saturday at 
e’en again. But I was saying, there’s some siller in the 
spleuchan that’s like the Captain’s ain, for we’ve aye counted 
it such, baith Ailie and me.’ 

'No, no, Liddesdale ; no occasion, no occasion whatever. 
Keep thy cash to stock thy farm.' 

'To stock my farm? Mr. Pleydell, your honour kens mony 
things, but ye dinna ken the farm o’ Charlie’s Hope ; it’s sae 
weel stockit already that we sell maybe sax hundred pounds 
off it ilka year, flesh and fell thegither ; na, na.’ 

'Can’t you take another then ?’ 

'I dinna ken ; the Deuke’s no that fond o’ led farms, and 
he canna bide to put away the auld tenantry; and then I 
wadna like mysell to gang about whistling^ and raising the 
rent on my neighbours.’ 

'What, not upon thy neighbour at Dawston — Devilstone — 
how d’ye call the place?’ 

'What, on Jock o’ Dawston? hout na. He’s a camsteary 
chield, and fasheous about marches, and we’ve had some bits 
o’ splores thegither; but deil o’ me if I wad wrang Jock o’ 
Dawston neither.’ 

'Thou’rt an honest fellow,’ said the Lawyer; 'get thee to 
bed. Thou wilt sleep sounder, I warrant thee, than many a 
man that throws off an embroidered coat and puts on a laced 
nightcap. Colonel, I see you are busy with our enfant trouve. 
But Barnes must give me a summons of wakening at seven 
to-morrow morning, for my servant’s a sleepy-headed fellow ; 
and I daresay my clerk Driver has had Clarence’s fate, and 
is drowned by this time in a butt of your ale ; for Mrs. Allan 
promised to make him comfortable, and she’ll soon discover 
what he expects from that engagement. Good-night, Colo- 
nel ; good-night. Dominie Sampson ; good-night, Dinmont the 
downright; good-night, last of all, to the new-found repre- 
sentative of the Bertrams, and the Mac-Dingawaies, the 
Knarths, the Arths, the Godfreys, the Dennises, and the Ro- 


See Whistling. Note 14. 


377 


GUY MANNERING 


lands, and, last and dearest title, heir of tailzie and provision 
of the lands and barony of Ellangowan, under the settlement 
of Lewis Bertram, Esq., whose representative you are.’ 

And so saying, the old gentleman took his candle and left 
the room ; and the company dispersed, after the Dominie had 
once more hugged and embraced his ‘little Harry Bertram,’ 
as he continued to call the young soldier of six feet high. 


CHAPTER LI. 

My imagination 

Carries no favour in it but Bertram’s; 

I am undone ; there is no living, none, 

If Bertram be away. 

All’s Well that Ends Well. 

A t the hour which he had appointed the preceding evening 
the indefatigable lawyer was seated by a good fire and 
a pair of wax candles, with a velvet cap on his head and a 
quilted silk nightgown on his person, busy arranging his 
memoranda of proofs and indications concerning the murder 
of Frank Kennedy. An express had also been despatched 
to Mr. Mac-Morlan, requesting his attendance at Wood- 
bourne as soon as possible on business of importance. Diri- 
mont, fatigued with the events of the evening before, and 
finding the accommodations of Woodbourne much preferable 
to those of Mac-Guffog, was in no hurry to rise. The im- 
patience of Bertram might have put him earlier in motion, 
but Colonel Mannering had intimated an intention to visit 
him in his apartment in the morning, and he did not choose 
to leave it. Before this interview he had dressed himself, 
Barnes having, by his master’s orders, supplied him with 
every accommodation of linen, etc., and now anxiously waited 
the promised visit of his landlord. 

In a short time a gentle tap announced the Colonel, with 
whom Bertram held a long and satisfactory conversation. 
Each, however, concealed from the other one circumstance. 
Mannering could not bring himself to acknowledge the astro- 
logical prediction ; and Bertram was, from motives which may 
be easily conceived, silent respecting his love for Julia. In 
other respects their intercourse was frank and grateful to 

378 


GUY MANNERING 


both, and had latterly, upon the Colonel’s part, even an ap- 
proach to cordiality. Bertram carefully measured his own 
conduct by that of his host, and seemed rather to receive his 
offered kindness with gratitude and pleasure than to press 
for it with solicitation. 

Miss Bertram was in the breakfast-parlour when Sampson 
shuffled in, his face all radiant with smiles — a circumstance so 
uncommon that Lucy’s first idea was that somebody had been 
bantering him with an imposition, which had thrown him into 
this ecstasy. Having sate for some time rolling his eyes and 
gaping with his mouth like the great wooden head at Mer- 
lin’s exhibition, he at length began — ‘And what do you think 
of him. Miss Lucy?’ 

‘Think of whom, Mr. Sampson?’ asked the young lady. 

‘Of Har — no — of him that you know about?’ again de- 
manded the Dominie. 

‘That I know about ?’ replied Lucy, totally at a loss to com- 
prehend his meaning. 

‘Yes, the stranger, you know, that came last evening in the 
post vehicle; he who shot young Hazlewood, ha, ha, ho!’ 
burst forth the Dominie, with a laugh that sounded like 
neighing. 

‘Indeed, Mr. Sampson,’ said his pupil, ‘you have chosen a 
strange subject for mirth; I think nothing about the man, 
only I hope the outrage was accidental, and that wc need not 
fear a repetition of it.’ 

‘Accidental! ho, ho, ha!’ again whinnied Sampson. 

‘Really, Mr. Sampson,’ said Lucy, somewhat piqued, ‘you 
are unusually gay this morning.’ 

‘Yes, of a surety I am! ha, ha, ho! face-ti-ous, ho, ho, ha!’ 

‘So unusually facetious, my dear sir,’ pursued the young 
lady, ‘that I would wish rather to know the meaning of your 
mirth than to be amused with its effects only.’ 

‘You shall know it. Miss Lucy,’ replied poor Abel. ‘Do 
you remember your brother ?’ 

‘Good God! how can you ask me? No one knows better 
than you he was lost the very day I was born.’ 

‘Very true, very true,’ answered the Dominie, saddening at 
the recollection ; ‘I was strangely oblivious ; ay, ay ! too true. 
But you remember your worthy father?’ 

379 


GUY MANNERING 


'How should you doubt it, Mr. Sampson ? it is not so many 
weeks since ' 

‘True, true; ay, too true,’ replied the Dominie, his 
Houyhnhnm laugh sinking into a hysterical giggle. ‘I will 
be facetious no more under these remembrances ; but look at 
that young man !’ 

Bertram at this instant entered the room. ‘Yes, look at 
him well, he is your father’s living image; and as God has 
deprived you of your dear parents — O, my children, love one 
another!’ 

‘It is indeed my father’s face and form,’ said Lucy, turning 
very pale. Bertram ran to support her, the Dominie to fetch 
water to throw upon her face (which in his haste he took 
from the boiling tea-urn), when fortunately her colour, re- 
turning rapidly, saved her from the application of this ill- 
judged remedy. T conjure you to tell me, Mr. Sampson,’ she 
said, in an interrupted yet solemn voice, ‘is this my brother?’ 

‘It is, it is 1 Miss Lucy, it is little Harry Bertram, as sure 
as God’s sun is in that heaven 1’ 

‘And this is my sister ?’ said Bertram, giving way to all that 
family affection which had so long slumbered in his bosom 
for want of an object to expand itself upon. 

‘It is, it is! — it is Miss Lucy Bertram,’ ejaculated Sampson, 
‘whom by my poor aid you will find perfect in the tongues of 
France and Italy, and even of Spain, in reading and writing 
her vernacular tongue, and in arithmetic and book-keeping by 
double and single entry. I say nothing of her talents of shap- 
ing and hemming and governing a household, which, to give 
every one their due, she acquired not from me but from the 
housekeeper; nor do I take merit for her performance upon 
stringed instruments, whereunto the instructions of an hon- 
ourable young lady of virtue and modesty, and very facetious 
withal — Miss Julia Mannering — ^hath not meanly contributed. 
Suum cuique tribuito/ 

‘You, then,’ said Bertram to his sister, ‘are all that remains 
to me! Last night, but more fully this morning, Colonel 
Mannering gave me an account of our family misfortunes, 
though without saying I should, find my sister here.’ 

‘That,’ said Lucy, ‘he left to this gentleman to tell you — 
one of the kindest and most faithful of friends, who soothed 

380 


GUY MANNERING 


my father’s long sickness, witnessed his dying moments, and 
amid the heaviest clouds of fortune would not desert his 
orphan.’ 

God bless him for it !’ said Bertram, shaking the Dominie’s 
hand; ‘he deserves the love with which I have always re- 
garded even that dim and imperfect shadow of his memory 
which my childhood retained.’ 

‘And God bless you both, my dear children!’ said Sampson; 
‘if it had not been for your sake I would have been contented 
— had Heaven’s pleasure so been — to lay my head upon the 
turf beside my patron.’ 

‘But I trust,’ said Bertram — ‘I am encouraged to hope, we 
shall all see better days. All our wrongs shall be redressed, 
since Heaven has sent me means and friends to assert my 
right.’ 

‘Friends indeed;’ echoed the Dominie, ‘and sent, as you 
truly say, by Him to whom I early taught you to look up as 
the source of all that is good. There is the great Colonel 
Mannering from the Eastern Indies, a man of war fropi his 
birth upwards, but who is not the less a man of great erudi- 
tion, considering his imperfect opportunities; and there is, 
moreover, the great advocate Mr. Pleydell, who is also a 
man of great erudition, but who descendeth to trifles unbe- 
seeming thereof ; and there is Mr. Andrew Dinmont, whom I 
do not understand to have possession of much erudition, but 
who, like the patriarchs of old, is cunning in that which be- 
longeth to flocks and herds ; lastly, there is even I myself, 
whose opportunities of collecting erudition, as they have been 
greater than those of the aforesaid valuable persons, have 
not, if it becomes me to speak, been pretermitted by me, in 
so far as my poor faculties have enabled me to profit by them. 
Of a surety, little Harry, we must speedily resume our 
studies. I will begin from the foundation. Yes, I will re- 
form your education upward from the true knowledge of 
English grammar even to that of the Hebrew or Chaldaic 
tongue.’ 

The reader may observe that upon this occasion Sampson 
was infinitely more profuse of words than he had hitherto 
exhibited himself. The reason was that, in recovering his 
pupil, his mind went instantly back to their original connex- 

381 


GUY MANNERING 


ion, and he had, in his confusion of ideas, the strongest desire 
in the world to resume spelling lessons and half-text with 
young Bertram. This was the more ridiculous, as towards 
Lucy he assumed no such powers of tuition. But she had 
grown up under his eye, and had been gradually emancipated 
from his government by increase in years and knowledge, 
and a latent sense of his own inferior tact in manners, where- 
as his first ideas went to take up Harry pretty nearly where 
he had left him. From the same feelings of reviving au- 
thority he indulged himself in what was to him a profusion 
of language; and as people seldom speak more than usual 
without exposing themselves, he gave those whom he ad- 
dressed plainly to understand that, while he deferred implic- 
itly to the opinions and commands if they chose to impose 
them, of almost every one whom he met with, it was under 
an internal conviction that in the article of eru-di-ti-on, as he 
usually pronounced the word, he was infinitely superior to 
them all put together. At present, however, this intimation 
fell upon heedless ears, for the brother and sister were too 
deeply engaged in asking and receiving intelligence concern- 
ing their former fortunes to attend much to the worthy 
Dominie. 

When Colonel Mannering left Bertram he went to Julia’s 
dressing-room and dismissed her attendant. ‘My dear sir,’ 
she said as he entered, ‘you have forgot our vigils last night, 
and have hardly allowed me time to comb my hair, although 
you must be sensible how it stood on end at the various won- 
ders which took place.’ 

‘It is with the inside of your head that I have some busi- 
ness at present, Julia ; I will return the outside to the care of 
young Mrs. Mincing in a few minutes.’ 

‘Lord, papa,’ replied Miss Mannering, ‘think how entangled 
all my ideas are, and you to propose to comb them out in a 
few minutes! If Mincing were to do so in her department 
she would tear half the hair out of my head.’ 

‘Well, then, tell me,’ said the Colonel, ‘where the entangle- 
ment lies, which I will try to extricate with due gentleness ? 

‘O, everywhere,’ said the young lady ; ‘the whole is a wild 
dream.’ 

‘Well, then, I will try to unriddle it.’ He gave a brief 
382 


GUY MANNERING 


sketch of the fate and prospects of Bertram, to which Julia 
listened with an interest which she in vain endeavoured to 
disguise. ‘Well,’ concluded her father, ‘are your ideas on 
the subj ect more luminous ?’ 

‘More confused than ever, my dear sir,’ said Julia. ‘Here 
is this young man come from India, after he had been sup- 
posed dead, like Aboulfouaris the great voyager to his sister 
Canzade and his provident brother Hour. I am wrong in 
the story, I believe — Canzade was his wife ; but Lucy may 
represent the one and the Dominie the other. And then this 
lively crack-brained Scotch lawyer appears like a pantomime 
at the end of a tragedy. And then how delightful it will be 
if Lucy gets back her fortune !’ 

‘Now I think,’ said the Colonel, ‘that the most mysterious 
part of the business is, that Miss Julia Mannering, who must 
have known her father’s anxiety about the fate of this young 
man Brown, or Bertram, as we must now call him, should 
have met him when Hazlewood’s accident took place, and 
never once mentioned to her father a word of the matter, but 
suffered the search to proceed against this young gentle- 
man as a suspicious character and assassin.’ 

Julia, much of whose courage had been hastily assumed to 
meet the interview with her father, was now unable to rally 
herself ; she hung down her head in silence, after in vain 
attempting to utter a denial that she recollected Brown when 
she met him. 

‘No answer! Well, Julia,’ continued her father, gravely 
but kindly, ‘allow me to ask you. Is this the only time you 
have seen Brown since his return from India? Still no an- 
swer. I must then naturally suppose that it is not the first 
time. Still no reply. Julia Mannering, will you have the 
kindness to answer me? Was it this young man who came 
under your window and conversed with you during your resi- 
dence at Mervyn Hall? Julia, I command — I entreat you to 
be candid.’ 

Miss Mannering raised her head. ‘I have been, sir — I be- 
lieve I am still — very foolish; and it is perhaps more hard 
upon me that I must meet this gentleman, who has been, 
though not the cause entirely, yet the accomplice, of my folly, 
in your presence.’ Here she made a full stop. 

383 


GUY MANNERING 


‘I am to understand, then/ said Mannering, ^that this was 
the author of the serenade at Mervyn Hall ?’ 

There was something in this allusive change of epithet 
that gave Julia a little more courage. ‘He was indeed, sir; 
and if I am very wrong, as I have often thought, I have 
some apology.' 

‘And what is that?’ answered the Colonel, speaking quick, 
and with something of harshness. 

‘I will not venture to name it, sir; but (she opened a small 
cabinet, and put some letters into his hands) I will give you 
these, that you may see how this intimacy began, and by 
whom it was encouraged.’ 

Mannering took the packet to the window — ^his pride for- 
bade a more distant retreat. He glanced at some passages of 
the letters with an unsteady eye and an agitated mind; his 
stoicism, however, came in time to his aid — ^that philosophy 
which, rooted in pride, yet frequently bears the fruits of vir- 
tue. He returned towards his daughter with as firm an air 
as his feelings permitted him to assume. 

‘There is great apology for you, Julia, as far as I can judge 
from a glance at these letters ; you have obeyed at least one 
parent. Let us adopt a Scotch proverb the Dominie quoted 
the other day — “Let bygones be bygones, and fair play for 
the future.” I will never upbraid you with your past want of 
confidence; do you judge of my future intentions by my 
actions, of which hitherto you have surely had no reason to 
complain. Keep these letters ; they were never intended for 
my eye, and I would not willingly read more of them 
than I have done, at your desire and for your exculpation. 
And now, are we friends? Or rather, do you understand 
me?’ 

‘O, my dear, generous father,’ said Julia, throwing herself 
into his arms, ‘why have I ever for an instant misunderstood 
you ?’ 

‘No more of that, Julia,’ said the Colonel; ‘we have both 
been to blame. He that is too proud to vindicate the affection 
and confidence which he conceives should be given without 
solicitation, must meet much, and perhaps deserved, disap- 
pointment. It is enough that one dearest and most regretted 
member of my family has gone to the grave without knowing 

384 


GUY MANNERING 


me ; let me not lose the confidence of a child who ought to 
love me if she really loves herself/ 

O, no danger, no fear!’ answered Julia; det me but have 
your approbation and my own, and there is no rule you can 
prescribe so severe that I will not follow.’ 

'Well, my love,’ kissing her forehead, ‘I trust we shall not 
call upon you for anything too heroic. With respect to this 
young gentleman’s addresses, I expect in the first place that 
all clandestine correspondence, which no young woman can 
entertain for a moment without lessening herself in her own 
eyes and in those of her lover — I request, I say, that clan- 
destine correspondence of every kind may be given up, and 
that you will refer Mr. Bertram to me for the reason. You 
will naturally wish to know what is to be the issue of such a 
reference. In the first place, I desire to observe this young 
gentleman’s character more closely than circumstances, and 
perhaps my own prejudices, have permitted formerly. I 
should also be glad to see his birth established. Not that I 
am anxious about his getting the estate of Ellangowan, 
though such a subject is held in absolute indifference no- 
where except in a novel ; but certainly Henry Bertram, heir 
of Ellangowan, whether possessed of the property of his an- 
cestors or not, is a very different person from Vanbeest 
Brown, the son of nobody at all. His fathers, Mr. Pleydell 
tells me, are distinguished in history as following the banners 
of their native princes, while our own fought at Cressy and 
Poictiers. In short, I neither give nor withhold my approba- 
tion, but I expect you will redeem past errors; and, as you 
can now unfortunately only have recourse to one parent, that 
you will show the duty of a child by reposing that confidence 
in me which I will say my inclination to make you happy 
renders a filial debt upon your part.’ 

The first part of this speech affected Julia a good deal, the 
comparative merit of the ancestors of the Bertrams and Man- 
nerings excited a secret smile, but the conclusion was such 
as to soften a heart peculiarly open to the feelings of gener- 
osity. 'No, my dear sir,’ she said, extending her hand, ‘re- 
ceive my faith, that from this moment you shall be the first 
person consulted respecting what shall pass in future between 
Brown — I mean Bertram — and me; and that no engagement 

385 


GUY MANNERING 


shall be undertaken by me excepting what you shall imme- 
diately know and approve of. May I ask if Mr. Bertram is 
to continue a guest at Woodbourne ?’ 

‘Certainly/ said the Colonel, ‘while his affairs render it 
advisable.’ 

‘Then, sir, you must be sensible, considering what is already 
past, that he will expect some reason for my withdrawing, I 
believe I must say the encouragement, which he may think I 
have given.’ 

‘I expect, Julia,’ answered Mannering, ‘that he will respect 
my roof, and entertain some sense perhaps of the services I 
am desirous to render him, and so will not insist upon any 
course of conduct of which I might have reason to complain ; 
and I expect of you that you will make him sensible of what 
is due to both.’ 

‘Then, sir, I understand you, and you shall be implicitly 
obeyed.’ 

‘Thank you, my love ; my anxiety (kissing her) is on your 
account. Now wipe these witnesses from your eyes, and so 
to breakfast.’ 


CHAPTER LII. 


And, Sheriff, I will engage my word to you. 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner time, 

Send him to answer thee, or any man, 

For anything he shall be charged withal. 


Henry IV. Part I. 



HEN the several by-plays, as they may be termed, had 


▼ V taken place among the individuals of the Woodbourne 
family, as we have intimated in the preceding chapter, the 
breakfast party at length assembled, Dandie excepted, who 
had consulted his taste in viands, and perhaps in society, by 
partaking of a cup of tea with Mrs. Allan, just laced with 
two teaspoonfuls of cogniac, and reinforced with various 
slices from a huge round of beef. He had a kind of feeling 
that he could eat twice as much, and speak twice as much, 
with this good dame and Barnes as with the grand folk in 
the parlour. Indeed, the meal of this less distinguished party 


386 


GUY MANNERING 


was much more mirthful than that in the higher circle, where 
there was an obvious air of constraint on the greater part of 
the assistants. Julia dared not raise her voice in asking Ber- 
tram if he chose another cup of tea. Bertram felt embarrassed 
while eating his toast and butter under the eye of Manner- 
ing. Lucy, while she indulged to the uttermost her affection 
for her recovered brother, began to think of the quarrel be- 
twixt him and Hazlewood. The Colonel felt the painful 
anxiety natural to a proud mind when it deems its slightest 
action subject for a moment to the watchful construction of 
others. The Lawyer, while sedulously buttering his roll, 
had an aspect of unwonted gravity, arising perhaps from 
the severity of his morning studies. As for the Dominie, his 
state of mind was ecstatic ! He looked at Bertram — he looked 
at Lucy — he whimpered — he sniggled — he grinned — he com- 
mitted all manner of solecisms in point of form: poured the 
whole cream (no unlucky mistake) upon the plate of por- 
ridge which was his own usual breakfast, threw the slops of 
what he called his ‘crowning dish of tea’ into the sugar-dish 
instead of the slop-basin, and concluded with spilling the 
scalded liquor upon old Plato, the Colonel’s favourite spaniel, 
who received the libation with a howl that did little honour to 
his philosophy. 

The Colonel’s equanimity was rather shaken by this last 
blunder. ‘Upon my word, my good friend, Mr. Sampson, you 
forget the difference between Plato and Zenocrates.’ 

‘The former was chief of the Academics, the latter of the 
Stoics,’ said the Dominie, with some scorn of the supposition. 

‘Yes, my dear sir, but it was Zenocrates, not Plato, who 
denied that pain was an evil.’ 

‘I should have thought,’ said Pleydell, ‘that very respect- 
able quadruped which is just now limping out of the room 
upon three of his four legs was rather of the Cynic school.’ 

‘Very well hit off. But here comes an answer from Mac- 
Morlan.’ 

It was unfavourable. Mrs. Mac-Morlan sent her respect- 
ful compliments, and her husband had been, and was, de- 
tained by some alarming disturbances which had taken place 
the preceding night at Portanferry, and the necessary investi- 
gation which they had occasioned. 

387 


GUY MANNERING 


‘What's to be done now, Counsellor?’ said the Colonel to 
Pleydell. 

‘Why, I wish we could have seen Mac-Morlan,’ said the 
Counsellor, ‘who is a sensible fellow himself, and would be- 
sides have acted under my advice. But there is little harm. 
Our friend here must be made sui juris. He is at present an 
escaped prisoner, the law has an awkward claim upon him ; he 
must be placed rectum in curia, that is the first object; for 
which purpose. Colonel, I will accompany you in your car- 
riage down to Hazlewood House. The distance is not great ; 
we will offer our bail, and I am confident I can easily show 
Mr. — I beg his pardon — Sir Robert Hazlewood, the necessity 
of receiving it.’ 

‘With all my heart,’ said the Colonel ; and, ringing the bell, 
gave the necessary orders. ‘And what is next to be done ?’ 

‘We must get hold of Mac-Morlan, and look out for more 
proof.’ 

‘Proof !’ said the Colonel, ‘the thing is as clear as daylight : 
here are Mr. Sampson and Miss Bertram, and you yourself at 
once recognise the young gentleman as his father’s image ; 
and he himself recollects all the very peculiar circumstances 
preceding his leaving this country. What else is necessary to 
conviction ?’ 

‘To moral conviction nothing more, perhaps,’ said the ex- 
perienced lawyer, ‘but for legal proof a great deal. Mr. Ber- 
tram’s recollections are his own recollections merely, and 
therefore are not evidence in his own favour. Miss Bertram, 
the learned Mr. Sampson, and I can only say, what every one 
who knew the late Ellangowan will readily agree in, that this 
gentleman is his very picture. But that will not make him 
Ellangowan’s son and give him the estate.’ 

‘And what will do so?’ said the Colonel. 

‘Why, we must have a distinct probation. There are these 
gipsies ; but then, alas ! they are almost infamous in the eye of 
law, scarce capable of bearing evidence, and Meg Merrilies 
utterly so, by the various accounts which she formerly gave 
of the matter, and her impudent denial of all knowledge of 
the fact when I myself examined her respecting it.’ 

‘What must be done then?’ asked Mannering. 

‘We must try,’ answered the legal sage, ‘what proof can be 

388 


GUY MANNERING 


got at in Holland among the persons by whom our young 
friend was educated. But then the fear of being called in 
question for the murder of the gauger may make them silent ; 
or, if they speak, they are either foreigners or outlawed smug- 
glers. In short, I see doubts.' 

‘Under favour, most learned and honoured sir,' said 
the Dominie, ‘I trust He who hath restored little Harry 
Bertram to his friends will not leave His own work imper- 
fect.' 

‘I trust so too, Mr. Sampson,' said Pleydell; ‘but we must 
use the means ; and I am afraid we shall have more difficulty 
in procuring them than I at first thought. But a faint heart 
never won a fair lady ; and, by the way (apart to Miss Man- 
nering, while Bertram was engaged with his sister), there's 
a vindication of Holland for you! What smart fellows do 
you think Leyden and Utrecht must send forth, when such 
a very genteel and handsome young man comes from the 
paltry schools of Middleburgh ?' 

‘Of a verity,' said the Dominie, jealous of the reputation of 
the Dutch seminary — ‘of a verity, Mr. Pleydell, but I make it 
known to you that I myself laid the foundation of his educa- 
tion.' 

‘True, my dear Dominie,' answered the Advocate, ‘that 
accounts for his proficiency in the g’races, without question. 
But here comes your carriage. Colonel. Adieu, young folks. 
Miss Julia, keep your heart till I come back again ; let there 
be nothing done to prejudice my right whilst I am non valens 
agere/ 

Their reception at Hazlewood House was more cold and 
formal than usual ; for in general the Baronet expressed great 
respect for Colonel Mannering, and Mr. Pleydell, besides 
being a man of good family and of high general estimation, 
was Sir Robert's old friend. But now he seemed dry and 
embarrassed in his manner. ‘He would willingly,' he said, 
‘receive bail, notwithstanding that the offence had been di- 
rectly perpetrated, committed, and done against young Hazle- 
wood of Hazlewood ; but the young man had given himself a 
fictitious description, and was altogether that sort of person 
who should not be liberated, discharged, or let loose upon 
society; and therefore ’ 


389 


GUY MANNERING 


‘I hope, Sir Robert Hazlewood,’ said the Colonel, ^you do 
not mean to doubt my word when I assure you that he served 
under me as cadet in India ?’ 

‘By no means or account whatsoever. But you call him a 
cadet ; now he says, avers, and upholds that he was a captain, 
or held a troop in your regiment.' 

‘He was promoted since I gave up the command.' 

‘But you must have heard of it?' 

‘No. I returned on account of family circumstances from 
India, and have not since been solicitous to hear particular 
news from the regiment ; the name of Brown, too, is so com- 
mon that I might have seen his promotion in the Gazette 
without noticing it. But a day or two will bring letters from 
his commanding officer.' 

‘But I am told and informed, Mr. Pleydell,' answered Sir 
Robert, still hesitating, ‘that he does not mean to abide by 
this name of Brown, but is to set up a claim to the estate of 
Ellangowan, under the name of Bertram.' 

‘Ay, who says that?' said the Counsellor. 

‘Or,' demanded the soldier, ‘whoever says so, does that give 
a right to keep him in prison ?' 

‘Hush, Colonel,' said the Lawyer; ‘I am sure you would 
not, any more than I, countenance him if he prove an im- 
postor. And, among friends, who informed you of this. Sir 
Robert ?' 

‘Why, a person, Mr. Pleydell,' answered the Baronet, ‘who 
is peculiarly interested in investigating, sifting, and clearing 
out this business to the bottom; you will excuse my being 
more particular.' 

‘O certainly,' replied Pleydell; ‘well, and he says ?' 

‘He says that it is whispered about among tinkers, gipsies, 
and other idle persons that there is such a plan as I mentioned 
to you, and that this young man, who is a bastard or natural 
son of the late Ellangowan, is pitched upon as the impostor 
from his strong family likeness.' 

‘And was there such a natural son. Sir Robert?' demanded 
the Counsellor. 

‘O, certainly, to my own positive knowledge. Ellangowan 
had him placed as cabin-boy or powder-monkey on board an 
armed sloop or yacht belonging to the revenue, through the 

390 


GUY MANNERING 

interest of the late Commissioner Bertram, a kinsman of his 
own/ 

‘Well, Sir Robert,' said the Lawyer, taking the word out of 
the mouth of the impatient soldier, ‘you have told me news. 
I shall investigate them, and if I find them true, certainly 
Colonel Mannering and I will not countenance this young 
man. In the meanwhile, as we are all willing to make him 
forthcoming to answer all complaints against him, I do as- 
sure you, you will act most illegally, and incur heavy respon- 
sibility, if you refuse our bail.' 

‘Why, Mr. Pleydell,' said Sir Robert, who knew the high 
authority of the Counsellor's opinion^ ‘as you must know best, 
and as you promise to give up this young man ' 

‘If he proves an impostor,' replied the Lawyer, with some 
emphasis. 

‘Ay, certainly. Under that condition I will take your bail ; 
though I must say an obliging, well-disposed, and civil neigh- 
bour of mine, who was himself bred to the law, gave me a 
hint or caution this morning against doing so. It was from 
him I learned that this youth was liberated and had come 
abroad, or rather had broken prison. But where shall we 
find one to draw the bail-bond?' 

‘Here,' said the Counsellor, applying himself to the bell, 
‘send up my clerk Mr. Driver; it will not do my character 
harm if I dictate the needful myself.' It was written accord- 
ingly and signed, and, the Justice having subscribed a regular 
warrant for Bertram alias Brown's discharge, the visitors 
took their leave. 

Each threw himself into his own corner of the post-chariot, 
and said nothing for some time. The Colonel first broke 
silence: ‘So you intend to give up this poor young fellow at 
the first brush ?' 

‘Who, I?' replied the Counsellor. ‘I will not give up one 
hair of his head, though I should follow them to the court of 
last resort in his behalf; but what signified mooting points 
and showing one's hand to that old ass? Much better he 
should report to his prompter, Glossin, that we are indifferent 
or lukewarm in the matter. Besides, I wished to have a peep 
at the enemies' game.' 

‘Indeed !' said the soldier. ‘Then I see there are stratagems 

391 


GUY MANNERING 


in law as well as war. Well, and how do you like their line 
of battle ?’ 

‘Ingenious,’ said Mr. Pleydell, ‘but I think desperate; they 
are finessing too much, a common fault on such occasions.’ 

During this discourse the carriage rolled rapidly towards 
Woodbourne without anything occurring worthy of the read- 
er’s notice, excepting their meeting with young Hazlewood, 
to whom the Colonel told the extraordinary history of Ber- 
tram’s reappearance, which he heard with high delight, and 
then rode on before to pay Miss Bertram his compliments on 
an event so happy and so unexpected. 

We return to the party at Woodbourne. After tEe depart- 
ure of Mannering, the conversation related chiefly to the for- 
tunes of the Ellangowan family, their domains, and their for- 
mer power. ‘It was, then, under the towers of my fathers,’ 
said Bertram, ‘that I landed some days since in circumstances 
much resembling those of a vagabond? Its mouldering tur- 
rets and darksome arches even then awakened thoughts of 
the deepest interest, and recollections which I was unable to 
decipher. I will now visit them again with other feelings, 
and, I trust, other and better hopes.’ 

‘Do not go there now,’ said his sister. ‘The house of our 
ancestors is at present the habitation of a wretch as insidious I 
as dangerous, whose arts and villainy accomplished the ruin 
and broke the heart of our unhappy father.’ i 

‘You increase my anxiety,’ replied her brother, ‘to confront 
this miscreant, even in the den he has constructed for him- I 
self ; I think I have seen him.’ 

‘But you must consider,’ said Julia, ‘that you are now left 1 
under Lucy’s guard and mine, and are responsible to us for 
all your motions ; consider, I have not been a lawyer’s mis- | 
tress twelve hours for nothing, and I assure you it would be 
madness to attempt to go to Ellangowan just now. The ut- ! 
most to which I can consent is, that we shall walk in a body t 

to the head of the Woodbourne avenue, and from that per- j 

haps we may indulge you with our company as far as a rising j 
ground in the common, whence your eyes may be blessed with ' 
a distant prospect of those gloomy towers which struck so 
strongly your sympathetic imagination.’ 

The party was speedily agreed upon; and the ladies, hav- 

392 


GUY HANKERING 


ing taken their cloaks, followed the route proposed, under 
the escort of Captain Bertram. It was a pleasant winter 
morning, and the cool breeze served only to freshen, not to 
chill, the fair walkers. A secret though unacknowledged 
bond of kindness combined the two ladies, and Bertram, now 
hearing the interesting accounts of his own family, now com- 
municating his adventures in Europe and in India, repaid 
the pleasure which he received. Lucy felt proud of her 
brother, as well from the bold and manly turn of his senti- 
ments as from the dangers he had encountered, and the spirit 
with which he had surmounted them. And Julia, while she 
pondered on her father’s words, could not help entertaining 
hopes that the independent spirit which had seemed to her 
father presumption in the humble and plebeian Brown would 
have the grace of courage, noble bearing, and high blood in 
the far-descended heir of Ellangowan. 

They reached at length the little eminence or knoll upon 
the highest part of the common, called Gibbie’s Knowe — a 
spot repeatedly mentioned in this history as being on the 
skirts of the Ellangowan estate. It commanded a fair variety 
of hill and dale, bordered with natural woods, whose naked 
boughs at this season relieved the general colour of the land- 
scape with a dark purple hue ; while in other places the pros- 
pect was more formally intersected by lines of plantation, 
where the Scotch firs displayed their variety of dusky green. 
At the distance of two or three miles lay the bay of Ellan- 
gowan, its waves rippling under the influence of the western 
breeze. The towers of the ruined castle, seen high over every 
object in the neighbourhood, received a brighter colouring 
from the wintry sun. 

‘There,’ said Lucy Bertram, pointing them out in the dis- 
tance, ‘there is the seat of our ancestors. God knows, my. 
dear brother, I do not covet in your behalf the extensive 
power which the lords of these ruins are said to have pos- 
sessed so long, and sometimes to have used so ill. But, O 
that I might see you in possession of such relics of their for- 
tune as should give you an honourable independence, and 
enable you to stretch your hand for the protection of the old 
and destitute dependents of our family, whom our poor 
father’s death ’ 


393 


GUY MANNERING 


‘True, my dearest Lucy,' answered the young heir of Elian- 
gowan; ‘and I trust, with the assistance of Heaven, which 
has so far guided us, and with that of these good friends, 
whom their own generous hearts have interested in my be- 
half, such a consummation of my hard adventures is now not 
unlikely. But as a soldier I must look with some interest 
upon that worm-eaten hold of ragged stone; and if this un- 
dermining scoundrel who is now in possession dare to dis- 
place a pebble of it ' 

He was here interrupted by Dinmont, who came hastily 
after thenr up the road, unseen till he was near the party : 
‘Captain, Captain! ye’re wanted. Ye’re wanted by her ye 


ken o’.’ 


And immediately Meg Merrilies, as if emerging out of the 
earth, ascended from the hollow way and stood before them. 
‘I sought ye at the house,’ she said, ‘and found but him 
(pointing to Dinmont). But ye are right, and I was wrang; 
it is here we should meet, on this very spot, where my eyes 
last saw ybur father. Remember your promise and follow 
me.’ 


CHAPTER LHL 


To hail the king in seemly sort 
The ladie was full fain; 

But King Arthur, all sore amazed. 

No answer made again. 

‘What wight art thou,’ the ladie said, 
‘ That will not speak to me ? 

Sir, I may chance to ease thy pain, 
Though I be foul to see.’ 


The Marriage of Sir Gawaine. 



HE fairy bride of Sir Gawaine, while under the influ- 


X ence of the spell of her wicked step-mother, was more 
decrepit probably, and what is commonly called more ugly, 
than Meg Merrilies; but I doubt if she possessed that wild 
sublimity which an excited imagination communicated to 
features marked and expressive in their own peculiar char- 
acter, and to the gestures of a form which, the sex considered, 
might be termed gigantic. Accordingly, the Knights of the 


394 


GUY MANNERING 


Round Table did not recoil with more terror from the appa- 
rition of the loathly lady placed between ‘an oak and a green 
holly, than Lucy Bertram and Julia Mannering did from the 
appearance of this Galwegian sibyl upon the common of El- 
langowan. 

For God s sake, said Julia, pulling out her purse, ‘give 
that dreadful woman something and bid her go away/ 

‘I cannot,’ said Bertram ; ‘I must not offend her.’ 

‘What keeps you here?’ said Meg, exalting the harsh and 
rough tones of her hollow voice. ‘Why do you not follow ? 
Must your hour call you twice ? Do you remember your 
oath? “Were it at kirk or market, wedding or burial,” — and 
she held high her skinny forefinger in a menacing atti- 
tude. 

Bertram turned round to his terrified companions. ‘Excuse 
me for a moment ; I am engaged by a promise to follow this 
woman.’ 

‘Good Heavens! engaged to a madwoman?’ said Julia. 

‘Or to a gipsy, who has her band in the wood ready to 
murder you?’ said Lucy. 

‘That was not spoken like a bairn of Ellangowan,’ said 
Meg, frowning upon Miss Bertram. ‘It is the ill-doers are 
ill-dreaders.’ 

‘In short, I must go,’ said Bertram, ‘it is absolutely neces- 
sary ; wait for me five minutes on this spot.’ 

‘Five minutes?’ said the gipsy, ‘five hours may not bring 
you here again.’ 

‘Do you hear that?’ said Julia; ‘for Heaven’s sake do not 
go!’ 

‘I must, I must ; Mr. Dinmont will protect you back to the 
house.’ 

‘No,’ said Meg, ‘he must come with you; it is for that he 
is here. He maun take part wi’ hand and heart ; and weel his 
part it is, for redding his quarrel might have cost you dear.’ 

‘Troth, Luckie, it’s very true,’ said the steady farmer; ‘and 
ere I turn back frae the Captain’s side I’ll show that I haena 
forgotten’t.’ 

‘O yes,’ exclaimed both the ladies at once, ‘let Mr. Dinmont 
go with you, if go you must, on this strange summons.’ 

‘Indeed I must,’ answered Bertram; ‘but you see I am 

395 


GUY MANNERING 


safely guarded. Adieu for a short time; go home as fast as 
you can.' 

He pressed his sister’s hand, and took a yet more affec- 
tionate farewell of Julia with his eyes. Almost stupified with 
surprise and fear, the young ladies watched with anxious 
looks the course of Bertram, his companion, and their extraor- 
dinary guide. Her tall figure moved across the wintry 
heath with steps so swift, so long, and so steady that she ap- 
peared rather to glide than to walk. Bertram and Dinmont, 
both tall men, apparently scarce equalled her in height, owing 
to her longer dress and high head-gear. She proceeded 
straight across the common, without turning aside to the 
winding path by which passengers avoided the inequalities 
and little rills that traversed it in different directions. Thus 
the diminishing figures often disappeared from the eye, as 
they dived into such broken ground, and again ascended to 
sight when they were past the hollow. There was something 
frightful and unearthly, as it were, in the rapid and undeviat- 
ing course which she pursued, undeterred by any of the im- 
pediments which usually incline a traveller from the direct 
path. Her way was as straight and nearly as swift, as that 
of a bird through the air. At length they reached those thick- 
ets of natural wood which extended from the skirts of the 
common towards the glades and brook of Derncleugh, and 
were there lost to the view. 

‘This is very extraordinary,’ said Lucy after a pause, and 
turning round to her companion; ‘what can he have to do 
with that old hag?’ 

‘It is very frightful,’ answered Julia, ‘and almost reminds 
me of the tales of sorceresses, witches, and evil genii which I 
have heard in India. They believe there in a fascination of 
the eye by which those who possess it control the will and 
dictate the motions of their victims. What can your brother 
l^ve in common with that fearful woman that he should 
leave us, obviously against his will, to attend to her com- 
mands?’ 

‘At least,’ said Lucy, ‘we may hold him safe from harm; 
for she would never have summoned that faithful creature 
Dinmont, of whose strength, courage, and steadiness Henry 
said so much, to attend upon an expedition where she pro- 

396 


GUY MANNERING 


jected evil to the person of his friend. And now let us go 
back to the house till the Colonel returns. Perhaps Bertram 
may be back first; at any rate, the Colonel will judge what is 
to be done.’ 

Leaning, then, upon each other’s arm, but yet occasionally 
stumbling, between fear and the disorder of their nerves, they 
at length reached the head of the avenue, when they heard 
the tread of a horse behind. They started, for their ears were 
awake to every sound, and beheld to their great pleasure 
young Hazlewood. ‘The Colonel will be here immediately,’ 
he said ; ‘I galloped on before to pay my respects to Miss Ber- 
tram, with the sincerest congratulations upon the joyful event 
which has taken place in her family. I long to be introduced 
to Captain Bertram, and to thank him for the well-deserved 
lesson he gave to my rashness and indiscretion.’ 

‘He has left us just now,’ said Lucy, ‘and in a manner that 
has frightened us very much.’ 

Just at that moment the Colonel’s carriage drove up, and, 
on observing the ladies, stopped, while Mannering and his 
learned counsel alighted and joined them. They instantly 
communicated the new cause of alarm. 

‘Meg Merrilies again!’ said the Colonel. ‘She certainly is 
a most mysterious and unaccountable personage ; but I think 
she must have something to impart to Bertram to which she 
does not mean we should be privy.’ 

‘The devil take the bedlamite old woman,’ said the Coun- 
sellor ; ‘will she not let things take their course, prout de lege, 
but must always be putting in her oar in her own way ? Then 
I fear from the direction they took they are going upon the 
Ellangowan estate. That rascal Glossin has shown us what 
ruffians he has at his disposal ; I wish honest Liddesdale may 
be guard sufficient.’ 

‘If you please,’ said Hazlewood, T should be most happy 
to ride in the direction which they have taken. I am so wel? 
known in the country that I scarce think any outrage will be 
offered in my presence, and I shall keep at such a cautious 
distance as not to appear to watch Meg, or interrupt any 
communication which she may make.’ 

‘Upon my word,’ said Pleydell (aside), ‘to be a sprig whom 
I remember with a whey face and a satchel not so very many 

397 


GUY MANNERING 


years ago, I think young Hazlewood grows a fine fellow. I 
am more afraid of a new attempt at legal oppression than at 
open violence, and from that this young man’s presence would 
deter both Glossin and his understrappers. — Hie away then, 
my boy; peer out — peer out, you’ll find them somewhere 
about Derncleugh, or very probably in Warroch wood.’ 

Hazlewood turned his horse. ‘Come back to us to dinner, 
Hazlewood,’ cried the Colonel. He bowed, spurred his horse, 
and galloped off. 

We now return to Bertram and Dinmont, who continued to 
follow their mysterious guide through the woods and dingles 
between the open common and the ruined hamlet of Dern- 
cleugh. As she led the way she never looked back upon her 
followers, unless to chide them for loitering, though the 
sweat, in spite of the season, poured from their brows. At 
other times she spoke to herself in such broken expressions 
as these : ‘It is to rebuild the auld house, it is to lay the corner- 
stone ; and did I not warn him ? I tell’d him I was born to do 
it, if my father’s head had been the stepping-stane, let alane 
his. I was doomed — still I kept my purpose in the cage and 
in the stocks ; I was banished — I kept it in an unco land ; I 
was scourged, I was branded — my resolution lay deeper than 
scourge or red iron could reach ; — and now the hour is 
come.’ 

‘Captain,’ said Dinmont, in a half whisper, ‘I wish she 
binna uncanny ! her words dinna seem to come in God’s name, 
or like other folks’. Odd, they threep in our country that 
there are sic things.’ 

‘Don’t be afraid, my friend,’ whispered Bertram in return. 

‘Fear’d ! fient a haet care I,’ said the dauntless farmer ; ‘be 
she witch or deevil, it’s a’ ane to Dandie Dinmont.’ 

‘Hand your peace, gudeman,’ said Meg, looking sternly 
over her shoulder; ‘is this a time or place for you to speak, 
think ye?’ 

‘But, my good friend,’ said Bertram, ‘as I have no doubt 
in your good faith or kindness, which I have experienced, you 
should in return have some confidence in me ; I wish to know 
where you are leading us.’ 

‘There’s but ae answer to that, Henry Bertram,’ said the 
sibyl. ‘I swore my tongue should never tell^ but I never said 

398 


GUY MANNERING 


my finger should never show. Go on and meet your fortune, 
or turn back and lose it : that’s a’ I hae to say.’ 

Go on, then, answered Bertram ; ‘I will ask no more ques- 
tions.’ 

They descended into the glen about the same place where 
Meg had formerly parted from Bertram. She paused an in- 
stant beneath the tall rock where he had witnessed the burial 
of a dead body and stamped upon the ground, which, not- 
withstanding all the care that had been taken, showed vestiges 
of having been recently moved. ‘Here rests ane,’ she said; 
‘he’ll maybe hae neibours sune.’ 

She then moved up the brook until she came to the ruined 
hamlet, where, pausing with a look of peculiar and softened 
interest before one of the gables which was still standing, she 
said in a tone less abrupt, though as solemn as before, ‘Do 
you see that blackit and broken end of a sheeling ? There my 
kettle boiled for forty years ; there I bore twelve buirdly sons 
and daughters. Where are they now? where are the leaves 
that were on that auld ash tree at Martinmas! The west 
wind has made it bare; and I’m stripped too. Do you see 
that saugh tree ? it’s but a blackened rotten stump now. I’ve 
sate under it mony a bonnie summer afternoon, when it hung 
its gay garlands ower the poppling water. I’ve sat there, and,’ 
elevating her voice, ‘I’ve held you on my knee, Henry Ber- 
tram, and sung ye sangs of the auld barons and their bloody 
wars. It will ne’er be green again, and Meg Merrilies will 
never sing sangs mair, be they blythe or sad. But ye’ll no 
forget her, and ye’ll gar big up the auld wa’s for her sake? 
And let somebody live there that’s ower gude to fear them 
of another warld. For if ever the dead came back amang the 
living. I’ll be seen in this glen mony a night after these 
crazed banes are in the mould.’ 

The mixture of insanity and wild pathos with which she 
spoke these last words, with her right arm bare and extended, 
her left bent and shrouded beneath the dark red drapery of 
her mantle, might have been a study worthy of our Siddons 
herself. ‘And now,’ she said, resuming at once the short, 
stern, and hasty tone which was most ordinary to her, ‘let us 
to the wark, let us to the wark.’ 

She then led the way to the promontory on which the Kaim 

399 


GUY MANNERING 


of Derncleugh was situated, produced a large key from her 
pocket, and unlocked the door. The interior of this place was 
in better order than formerly. T have made things decent,’ 
she said ; T may be streekit here or night. There will be few, 
few at Meg’s lykewake, for mony of our folk will blame what 
I hae done, and am to do !’ 

She then pointed to a table, upon which was some cold 
meat, arranged with more attention to neatness than could 
have been expected from Meg s habits. ‘Eat,’ she said — ‘eat ; 
ye’ll need it this night yet.’ 

Bertram, in complaisance, eat a morsel or two ; and Din- 
mont, whose appetite was unabated either by wonder, appre- 
hension, or the meal of the morning, made his usual figure as 
a trencherman. sShe then offered each a single glass of spir- 
its, which Bertram drank diluted, and his companion plain. 

‘Will ye taste naething yoursell, Luckie?’ said Dinmont. 

‘I shall not need it,’ replied their mysterious hostess. * ‘And 
now,’ she said, ‘ye maun hae arms ; ye maunna gang on dry- 
handed ; but use them not rashly. Take captive, but save life ; 
let the law hae its ain. He maun speak ere he die.’ 

‘Who is to be taken ? who is to speak ?’ said Bertram in as- 
tonishment, receiving a pair of pistols which she offered j 
him, and which, upon examining, he found loaded and | 
locked. 

‘The flints are gude,’ she said, ‘and the powder dry ; I ken | 
this wark week’ 

Then, without answering his questions, she armed Dinmont j 
also with a large pistol, and desired them to choose sticks for 
themselves out of a parcel of very suspicious-looking blud- ! 
geons wh^ch she brought from a corner. Bertram took a j 
stout sapling, and Dandie selected a club which might have 
served Hercules himself. They then left the hut together, 
and in doing so Bertram took an opportunity to whisper to 
Dinmont, ‘There’s something inexplicable in all this. But we I 
need not use these arms unless we see necessity and lawful 
occasion ; take care to do as you see me do.’ | 

Dinmont gave a sagacious nod, and they continued to fol- ! 
low, over wet and over dry, through bog and through fallow, 
the footsteps of their conductress. She guided them to the 
wood of Warroch by the same track which the late Ellan- 

400 


GUY MANNERING 


gowan had used when riding to Derncleugh in quest of his 
child on the miserable evening of Kennedy’s murder. 

When Meg Merrilies had attained these groves, through 
which the wintry sea-wind was now whistling hoarse and 
shrill, she seemed to pause a moment as if to recollect the 
way. ‘We maun go the precise track,’ she said, and continued 
to go forward, but rather in a zigzag and involved course than 
according to her former steady and direct line of motion. At 
length she guided them through the mazes of the wood to a 
little open glade of about a quarter of an acre, surrounded by 
trees and bushes, which made a wild and irregular boundary. 
Even in winter it was a sheltered and snugly sequestered 
spot; but when arrayed in the verdure of spring, the earth 
sending forth all its wild flowers, the shrubs spreading their 
waste of blossom around it, and the weeping birches, which 
towered over the underwood, drooping their long and leafy 
fibres’ to intercept the sun, it must have seemed a place for a 
youthful poet to study his earliest sonnet, or a pair of lovers 
to exchange their first mutual avowal of affection. Appar- 
ently it now awakened very different recollections. Bertram’s 
brow, when he had looked round the spot, became gloomy 
and embarrassed. Meg, after uttering to herself, ‘This is the 
very spot !’ looked at him with a ghastly side-glance — ‘D’ye 
mind it?’ 

‘Yes!’ answered Bertram, ‘imperfectly I do.’ 

‘Ay!’ pursued his guide, ‘on this very spot the man fell 
from his horse. I was behind that bourtree bush at the very 
moment. Sair, sair he strove, and sair he cried for mercy; 
but he was in the hands of them that never kenn’d the word ! 
Now will I show you the further track ; the last time ye trav- 
elled it was in these arms.’ 

She led them accordingly by a long and winding passage, 
almost overgrown with brushwood, until, without any very 
perceptible descent, they suddenly found themselves by the 
seaside. Meg then walked very fast on between the surf and 
the rocks, until she came to a remarkable fragment of rock 
detached from the rest. ‘Here,’ she said in a low and scarcely 
audible whisper — ‘here the corpse was found.’ 

‘And the cave,’ said Bertram, in the same tone, ‘is close 
beside it ; are you guiding us there ?’ 

401 


GUY MANNERING 


‘Yes/ said the gipsy in a decided tone. ‘Bend up both 
your hearts ; follow me as I creep in ; I have placed the fire- 
wood so as to screen you. Bide behind it for a gliff till I 
say, “The hour and the man are baith come'' ; then rin in on 
him, take his arms, and bind him till the blood burst frae his 
finger nails.’ 

‘I will, by my soul,’ said Henry, ‘if he is the man I suppose 
— Jansen ?’ 

‘Ay, Jansen, Hatteraick, and twenty mair names are his.’ 

‘Dinmont, you must stand by me now,’ said Bertram, ‘for 
this fellow is a devil.’ 

‘Ye needna doubt that,’ said the stout yeoman; ‘but I wish 
I could mind a bit prayer or I creep after the witch into that 
hole that she’s opening. It wad be a sair thing to leave the 
blessed sun and the free air, and gang and be killed like a tod 
that’s run to earth, in a dungeon like that. But, my sooth, 
they will be hard-bitten terriers will worry Dandie; so, as I 
said, deil hae me if I baulk you.’ This was uttered in the 
lowest tone of voice possible. The entrance was now open. 
Meg crept in upon her hands and knees, Bertram followed, 
and Dinmont, after giving a rueful glance toward the day- 
light, whose blessings he was abandoning, brought up the 
rear. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

Die, prophet ! in thy speech ; 

For this, among the rest, was I ordained. 

Henry VI. Part III. 

T he progress of the Borderer, who, as we have said, was 
the last of the party, was fearfully arrested by a hand, , 
which caught hold of his leg as he dragged his long limbs ' 
after him in silence and perturbation through the low and ' 
narrow entrance of the subterranean passage. The steel heart \ 
of the bold yeoman had well-nigh given way, and he sup- i 
pressed with difficulty a shout, which, in the defenceless pos- \ 
ture and situation which they then occupied, might have cost *■ 
all their lives. He contented himself, however, with extricat- ^ 
ing his foot from the grasp of this unexpected follower. ‘Be \ 

402 H 


GUY MANNERING 


still/ said a voice behind him, releasing him ; 1 am a friend — 
Charles Hazlewood/ 

These words were uttered in a very low voice, but they pro- 
duced sound enough to startle Meg Merrilies, who led the 
van, and who, having already gained the place where the 
cavern expanded, had risen upon her feet. She began, as if 
to confound any listening ear, to growl, to mutter, and to sing 
aloud, and at the same time to make a bustle among some 
brushwood which was now heaped in the cave. 

‘Here, beldam, deyvil s kind,' growled the harsh voice of 
Dirk Hatteraick from the inside of his den, ‘what makest thou 
there ?’ 

‘Laying the roughies to keep the cauld wind frae you, ye 
desperate do-nae-good. Ye’re e’en ower weel off, and wots 
na ; it will be otherwise soon.’ 

‘Have you brought me the brandy, and any news of my 
people?’ said Dirk Hatteraick. 

‘There’s the flask for ye. Your people — dispersed, broken, 
gone, or cut to ribbands by the redcoats.’ 

‘Der deyvil! this coast is fatal to me.’ 

‘Ye mae hae mair reason to say sae.’ 

While this dialogue went forward, Bertram and Dinmont 
had both gained the interior of the cave and assumed an erect 
position. The only light which illuminated its rugged and 
sable precincts was a quantity of wood burnt to charcoal in an 
iron grate, such as they use in spearing salmon by night. On 
these red embers Hatteraick from time to time threw a hand- 
ful of twigs or splintered wood ; but these, even when they 
blazed up, afforded a light much disproportioned to the ex- 
tent of the cavern; and, as its principal inhabitant lay upon 
the side of the grate most remote from the entrance, it was 
not easy for him to discover distinctly objects which lay in 
that direction. The intruders, therefore, whose number was 
now augmented unexpectedly to three, stood behind 
the loosely-piled branches with little risk of discovery. 
Dinmont had the sense to keep back Hazlewood with one 
hand till he whispered to Bertram, ‘A friend — young Hazle- 
wood.’ 

It was no time for following up the introduction, and they 
all stood as still as the rocks around them, obscured behind 

403 


GUY MANNERING 


the pile of brushwood, which had been probably placed there 
to break the cold wind from the sea, without totally inter- 
cepting the supply of air. The branches were laid so loosely 
above each other that, looking through them towards the 
light of the fire-grate, they could easily discover what passed 
in its vicinity, although a much stronger degree of illumina- 
tion than it afforded would not have enabled the persons j 
placed near the bottom of the cave to have descried them in | 
the position which they occupied. ! 

The scene, independent of the peculiar moral interest and I 
personal danger which attended it, had, from the effect of the | 
light and shade on the uncommon objects which it exhibited, | 
an appearance emphatically dismal. The light in the fire- j 
grate was the dark-red glare of charcoal in a state of ignition, 
relieved from time to time by a transient flame of a more 
vivid or duskier light, as the fuel with which Dirk Hatter- 
aick fed his fire was better or worse fitted for his purpose. 
Now a dark cloud of stifling smoke rose up to the roof of I 
the cavern, and then lighted into a reluctant and sullen blaze, 
which flashed wavering up the pillar of smoke, and was sud- 
denly rendered brighter and more lively by some drier fuel, 
or perhaps some splintered fir-timber, which at once con- | 
verted the smoke into flame. By such fitful irradiation they i 
could see, more or less distinctly, the form of Hatteraick, 
whose savage and rugged cast of features, now rendered yet 
more ferocious by the circumstances of his situation and the 
deep gloom of his mind, assorted well with the rugged and 
broken vault, which rose in a rude arch over and around 
him. The form of Meg Merrilies, which stalked about him, 
sometimes in the light, sometimes partially obscured in 
the smoke or darkness, contrasted strongly with the sitting 
figure of Hatteraick as he bent over the flame, and from his 
stationary posture was constantly visible to the spectator, 
while that of the female flitted around, appearing or disap- 
pearing like a spectre. 

Bertram felt his blood boil at the sight of Hatteraick. He 
remembered him well under the name of Jansen, which the 
smuggler had adopted after the death of Kennedy; and he • 
remembered also that this Jansen, and his mate Brown, the 
same who was shot at Woodbourne, had been the brutal 

404 


GUY MANNERING 


tyrants of his infancy. Bertram knew farther, from piecing 
his own imperfect recollections with the narratives of Man- 
nering and Pleydell, that this man was the prime agent in the 
act of violence which tore him from his family and country, 
and had exposed him to so many distresses and dangers. A 
thousand exasperating reflections rose within his bosom ; and 
he could hardly refrain from rushing upon Hatteraick and 
blowing his brains out. 

At the same time this would have been no safe adventure. 
The flame, as it rose and fell, while it displayed the strong, 
muscular, and broad-chested frame of the ruflian, glanced also 
upon two brace of pistols in his belt, and upon the hilt of his 
cutlass: it was not to be doubted that his desperation was 
commensurate with his personal strength and means of re- 
sistance. Both, indeed, were inadequate to encounter the 
combined power of two such men as Bertram himself and his 
friend Dinmont, without reckoning their une:^pected assistant 
Hazlewood, who was unarmed, and of a slighter make; but 
Bertram felt, on a moment’s reflection, that there would be 
neither sense nor valour in anticipating the hangman’s office, 
and he considered the importance of making Hatteraick pris- 
oner alive. He therefore repressed his indignation, and 
awaited what should pass between the ruffian and his gipsy 
guide. 

‘And how are ye now ?’ said the harsh and discordant tones 
of his female attendant. ‘Said I not, it would come upon 
you — ay, and in this very cave, where ye harboured after the 
deed ?’ 

‘Wetter and sturm, ye hag!’ replied Hatteraick, ‘keep your 
deyvil’s matins till they’re wanted. Have you seen Glossin?’ 

‘No,’ replied Meg Merrilies ; ‘you’ve missed your blow, ye 
blood-spiller ! and ye have nothing to expect from the 
tempter.’ 

‘Hagel !’ exclaimed the ruffian, ‘if I had him but by the 
throat ! And what am I to do then ?’ 

‘Do ?’ answered the gipsy ; ‘die like a man, or be hanged like 
a dog !’ 

‘Hanged, ye hag of Satan! The hemp’s not sown that 
shall hang me.’ 

‘It’s sown, and it’s grown, and it’s heckled, and it’s twisted. 

405 


GUY MANNERING 


Did I not tell ye, when ye wad take away the boy Harry Ber- 
tram, in spite of my prayers, — did I not say he would come 
back when he had dree’d his weird in foreign land till his 
twenty-first year? Did I not say the auld fire would burn 
down to a spark, but wad kindle again?’ 

‘Well, mother, you did say so,’ said Hatteraick, in a tone 
that had something of. despair in its accents; ‘and, donner 
and blitzen ! I believe you spoke the truth. That younker of 
Ellangowan has been a rock ahead to me all my life! And 
now, with Glossin’s cursed contrivance, my crew have been 
cut off, my boats destroyed, and I daresay the lugger’s taken ; 
there were not men enough left on board to work her, far 
less to fight her — a dredge-boat might have taken her. And 
what will the owners say? Hagel and sturm! I shall never 
dare go back again to Flushing.’ 

‘You’ll never need,’ said the gipsy. 

‘What are you doing there,’ said her companion ; ‘and what 
makes you say that ?’ 

During this dialogue Meg was heaping some flax loosely 
together. Before answer to this question she dropped a fire- 
brand upon the flax, which had been previously steeped in 
some spirituous liquor, for it instantly caught fire and rose in 
a vivid pyramid of the most brilliant light up to the very top 
of the vault. As it ascended Meg answered the ruffian’s ques- 
tion in a firm and steady voice : 'Because the hour's come, 
and the man' 

At the appointed signal Bertram and Dinmont sprung 
over the brushwood and rushed upon Hatteraick. Hazle- 
wood, unacquainted with their plan of assault, was a moment 
later. The ruffian, who instantly saw he was betrayed, turned 
his first vengeance on Meg Merrilies, at whom he discharged 
a pistol. She fell with a piercing and dreadful cry between 
the shriek of pain and the sound of laughter when at its 
highest and most suffocating height. ‘I kenn’d it would be 
this way,’ she said. 

Bertram, in his haste, slipped his foot upon the uneven 
rock which floored the cave — a fortunate stumble, for Hatter- 
aick’s second bullet whistled over him with so true and steady 
an aim that, had he been standing upright, it must have 
lodged in his brain. Ere the smuggler could draw another 

406 


GUY MANNERING 


pistol, Dinmont closed with him, and endeavoured by main 
force to pinion down his arms. Such, however, was the 
wretch’s personal strength, joined to the efforts of his despair, 
that, in spite of the gigantic force with which the Borderer 
grappled him, he dragged Dinmont through the blazing flax, 
and had almost succeeded in drawing a third pistol, which 
might have proved fatal to the honest farmer, had not Ber- 
tram, as well as Hazlewood, come to his assistance, when, by 
main force, and no ordinary exertion of it, they threw Hat- 
teraick on the ground, disarmed him, and bound him. This 
scuffle, though it takes up some time in the narrative, passed 
in less than a single minute. When he was fairly mastered, 
after one or two desperate and almost convulsionary strug- 
gles, the rufflan lay perfectly still and silent. ‘He’s gaun to 
die game ony how,’ said Dinmont; *weel, I like him no the 
waur for that.’ 

This observation honest Dandie made while he was shaking 
the blazing flax from his rough coat and shaggy black hair, 
some of which had been singed in the scuffle. ‘He is quiet 
now,’ said Bertram ; ‘stay by him and do not permit him to 
stir till I see whether the poor woman be alive or dead.’ With 
Hazlewood’s assistance he raised Meg Merrilies. 

‘I kenn’d it would be this way,’ she muttered, ‘and it’s e’en 
this way that it shoula be.’ 

The ball had penetrated the breast below the throat. It 
did not bleed much externally; but Bertram, accustomed 
to see gunshot wounds, thought it the more alarming. 
‘Good God ! what shall we do for this poor woman ?’ said 
he to Hazlewood, the circumstances superseding the 
necessity of previous explanation or introduction to each 
other. 

‘My horse stands tied above in the wood,’ said Hazlewood. 
‘I have been watching you these two hours. I will ride off for 
some assistants that may be trusted. Meanwhile, you had 
better defend the mouth of the cavern against every one until 
I return.’ He hastened away. Bertram, after binding Meg 
Merrilies’s wound as well as he could, took station near the 
mouth of the cave with a cocked pistol in his hand ; Dinmont 
continued to watch Hatteraick, keeping a grasp like that of 
Hercules on his breast. There was a dead silence in the 

407 


GUY MANNERING 


cavern, only interrupted by the low and suppressed moaning 
of the wounded female and by the hard breathing of the 
prisoner. 


CHAPTER LV. 

For though, seduced and led astray, 

Thou’st traveird far and wander’d long. 

Thy God hath seen thee all the way, 

And all the turns that led thee wrong. 

The Hall of Justice. 

A fter the space of about three-quarters of an hour, 
which the uncertainty and danger of their situatiou 
made seem almost thrice as long, the voice of young Hazle- 
wood was heard without. ‘Here I am,’ he cried, ‘with a 
sufficient party.’ 

‘Come in then,’ answered Bertram, not a little pleased to 
find his guard relieved. Hazlewood then entered, followed 
by two or three countrymen, one of whom acted as a peace- 
officer. They lifted Hatteraick up and carried him in their 
arms as far as the entrance of the vault was high enough 
to permit them; then laid him on his back and dragged him 
along as well as they could, for no persuasion would induce 
him to assist the transportation by any exertion of his own. 
He lay as silent and inactive m their hands as a dead corpse, 
incapable of opposing, but in no way aiding, their operations. 
When he was dragged into daylight and placed erect upon his 
feet among three or four assistants who had remained with- 
out the cave, he seemed stupified and dazzled by the sudden 
change from the darkness of his cavern. While others were 
superintending the removal of Meg Merrilies, those who re- 
mained with Hatteraick attempted to make him sit down 
upon a fragment of rock which lay close upon the high-water 
mark. A strong shuddering convulsed his iron frame for an 
instant as he resisted their purpose. ‘Not there! Hagel! 
you would not make me sit there?* 

These were the only words he spoke; but their import, and 
the deep tone of horror in which they were uttered, served to 
show what was passing in his mind. 

408 


GUY MANNERING 


When Meg Merrilies had also been removed from the 
cavern, with all the care for her safety that circumstances ad- 
mitted, they consulted where she should be carried. Hazle- 
wood had sent for a surgeon, and proposed that she should 
be lifted in the meantime to the nearest cottage. But the 
patient exclaimed with great earnestness, ‘Na, na, na! to the 
Kaim o’ Derncleugh — the Kaim o’ Derncleugh; the spirit 
will not free itself o’ the flesh but there.’ 

‘You must indulge her, I believe,’ said Bertram; ‘her 
troubled imagination will otherwise aggravate the fever of 
the wound.’ 

They bore her accordingly to the vault. On the way her 
mind seemed to run more upon the scene which had just 
passed than on her own approaching death. ‘There were 
three of them set upon him : I brought the twasome, but wha 
was the third? It would be himself, returned to work his 
ain vengeance!’ 

It was evident that the unexpected appearance of Hazle- 
wood, whose person the outrage of Hatteraick left her no 
time to recognize, had produced a strong effect on her imagi- 
nation. She often recurred to it. Hazlewood accounted for 
his unexpected arrival to Bertram by saying that he had kept 
them in view for some time by the direction of Mannering; 
that, observing them disappear into the cave, he had crept 
after them, meaning to announce himself and his errand, 
when his hand in the darkness encountering the leg of Din- 
mont had nearly produced a catastrophe, which, indeed, noth- 
ing but the presence of mind and fortitude of the bold yeoman 
could have averted. 

When the gipsy arrived at the hut she produced the key; 
and when they entered, and were about to deposit her upon 
the bed, she said, in an anxious tone, ‘Na, na ! not that way — 
the feet to the east’; and appeared gratified when they re- 
versed her posture accordingly, and placed her in that appro- 
priate to a dead body. 

‘Is there no clergyman near,’ said Bertram, ‘to assist this 
unhappy woman’s devotions?’ 

A gentleman, the minister of the parish, who had been 
Charles Hazlewood’s tutor, had, with many others, caught 
the alarm that the murderer of Kennedy was taken on the 

409 


GUY MANNERING 


spot where the deed had been done so many years before, and 
that a woman was mortally wounded. From curiosity, or 
rather from the feeling that his duty called him to scenes of 
distress, this gentleman had come to the Kaim of Derncleugh, 
and now presented himself. The surgeon arrived at the same 
time, and was about to probe the wound; but Meg resisted 
the assistance of either. Tt’s no what man can do that will 
heal my body or save my spirit. Let me speak what I have 
to say, and then ye may work your will; Tse be nae hind- 
rance. But where’s Henry Bertram?’ The assistants, to 
whom this name had been long a stranger, gazed upon each 
oth-er. ‘Yes!’ she said, in a stronger and harsher tone, T 
said Henry Bertram of Ellangowan. Stand from the light 
and let me see him.’ 

All eyes were turned towards Bertram, who approached 
the wretched couch. The wounded woman took hold of his 
hand. ‘Look at him,’ she said, ‘all that ever saw his father 
or his grandfather, and bear witness if he is not their living 
image?’ A murmur went through the crowd; the resem- 
blance was too striking to be denied. ‘And now hear me ; and 
let that man,’ pointing to Hatteraick, who was seated with 
his keepers on a sea-chest at some distance — ‘let him deny 
what I say if he can. That is Henry Bertram, son to Godfrey 
Bertram, umquhile of Ellangowan; that young man is the 
very lad-bairn that Dirk Hatteraick carried off from War- 
roch wood the day that he murdered the gauger. I was 
there like a wandering spirit, for I longed to see that wood 
or we left the country. I saved the bairn’s life, and sair, sair 
I prigged and prayed they would leave him wi’ me. But they 
bore him away, and he’s been lang ower the sea, and now 
he’s come for his ain, and what should withstand him? I 
swore to keep the secret till he was ane-an’-twenty ; I kenn’d 
he behoved to dree his weird till that day cam. I keepit that 
oath which I took to them; but I made another vow to 
mysell, that if I lived to see the day of his return I would set 
him in his father’s seat, if every step was on a dead man. I 
have keepit that oath too. I will be ae step mysell, he (point- 
ing to Hatteraick) will soon be another, and there will be 
ane mair yet.’ 

The clergyman now interposing, remarked it was a pity this 
410 


GUY MANNERING 


deposition was not regularly taken and written down, and 
the surgeon urged the necessity of examining the wound, 
previously to exhausting her by questions. When she saw 
them removing Hatteraick, in order to clear the room and 
leave the surgeon to his operations, she called out aloud, 
raising herself at the same time upon the couch, ‘Dirk Hat- 
teraick, you and I will never meet again until we are before 
the judgment-seat; will ye own to what I have said, or will 
you dare deny it?’ He turned his hardened brow upon her, 
with a look of dumb and inflexible deflance. ‘Dirk Hat- 
teraick, dare ye deny, with my blood upon your hands, one 
word of what my dying breath is uttering?’ He looked at 
her with the same expression of hardihood and dogged stub- 
bornness, and moved his lips, but uttered no sound. ‘Then 
fareweel !’ she said, ‘and God forgive you ! your hand has 
sealed my evidence. When I was in life I was the mad 
randy gipsy, that had been scourged and banished and 
branded; that had begged from door to door, and been 
hounded like a stray tyke from parish to parish ; wha would 
hae minded her tale? But now I am a dying woman, and 
my words will not fall to the ground, any more than the 
earth will cover my blood !’ 

She here paused, and all left the hut except the surgeon 
and two or three women. After a very short examination 
he shook his head and resigned his post by the dying woman’s 
side to the clergyman. 

A chaise returning empty to Kippletringan had been 
stopped on the highroad by a constable, who foresaw it would 
be necessary to convey Hatteraick to jail. The driver, un- 
derstanding what was going on at Derncleugh, left his horses 
to the care of a blackguard boy, confiding, it is to be sup- 
posed, rather in the years and discretion of the cattle than 
in those of their keeper, and set off full speed to see, as he 
expressed himself, ‘whaten a sort of fun was gaun on.’ He 
arrived just as the group of tenants and peasants, whose 
numbers increased every moment, satiated with gazing upon 
the rugged features of Hatteraick, had turned their attention 
towards Bertram. Almost all of them, especially the aged 
men who had seen Ellangowan in his better days, felt and 
acknowledged the justice of Meg Merrilies’s appeal. But the 

411 


GUY MANNERING 


Scotch are a cautious people ; they remembered there was an- 
other in possession of the estate, and they as yet only ex- 
pressed their feelings in low whispers to each other. Our 
friend Jock Jabos, the postilion, forced his way into the 
middle of the circle ; but no sooner cast his eyes upon Bertram 
than he started back in amazement, with a solemn exclama- 
tion, ‘As sure as there’s breath in man, it’s auld Ellangowan 
arisen from the dead!’ 

This public declaration of an unprejudiced witness was 
just the spark wanted to give fire to the popular fueling, 
which burst forth in three distinct shouts : ‘Bertram for 
ever!’ ‘Long life to the heir of Ellangowan!’ ‘God send fiim 
his ain, and to live among us as his forebears did of yore!' 

T hae been seventy years on the land,’ said one person. 

‘I and mine hae been seventy and seventy to that,’ said 
another; ‘I have a right to ken the glance of a Bertram.’ 

‘I and mine hae been three hundred years here,’ said an- 
other old man, ‘and I sail sell my last cow, but I’ll see the 
young Laird placed in his right. 

The women, ever delighted with the marvellous, rnsd no! 
less so when a handsome young man is the subject of the talc, 
added their shrill acclamations to the general all-hail. ‘Bles- 
sings on him ; he’s the very picture o’ his father ! The Ber- 
trams were aye the wale o’ the country side!’ 

‘Eh ! that his puir mother, that died in grief and in doubt 
about him, had but lived to see this day!’ exclaimed some 
female voices. 

‘But we’ll help him to his ain, kimmers,’ cried others ; ‘and 
before Glossin sail keep the Place of Ellangowan we’ll howk 
him out o’t wi’ our nails !’ 

Others crowded around Dinmont, who was nothing loth 
to tell what he knew of his friend, and to boast the honour 
which he had in contributing to the discovery. As he was 
known to several of the principal farmers present, his testi- 
mony afforded an additional motive to the general enthusi- 
asm. In short, it was one of those moments of intense feel- 
ing when the frost of the Scottish people melts like a snow- 
wreath, and the dissolving torrent carries dam and dyke be- 
fore it. 

The sudden shouts interrupted the devotions of the clergy- 
412 


GUY MANNERING 


man ; and Meg, who was in one of those dozing fits of stupe- 
faction that precede the close of existence, suddenly started 
— ‘Dinna ye hear? dinna ye hear? He’s owned! he’s owned! 
I lived but for this. I am a sinfu’ woman; but if my curse 
brought it down, my blessing has taen it off ! And now I 
wad hae liked to hae said mair. But it canna be. Stay’ — 
she continued, stretching her head towards the gleam of light 
that shot through the narrow slit which served for a window 
— ‘is he not there? Stand out o’ the light, and let me look 
upon him ance mair. But the darkness is in my ain een,’ she 
said, sinking back, after an earnest gaze upon vacuity; ‘it’s 
a’ ended now, 

Pass breath, 

Come death !’ 

And, sinking back upon her couch of straw, she expired 
without a groan. The clergyman and the surgeon carefully 
noted down all that she had said, now deeply regretting they 
had not examined her more minutely, but both remaining 
morally convinced of the truth of her disclosure. 

Hazlewood was the first to compliment Bertram upon the 
near prospect of his being restored to his name and rank in 
society. The people around, who now learned from Jabos 
that Bertram was the person who had wounded him, were 
struck with his generosity, and added his name to Bertram’s 
in their exulting acclamations. 

Some, however, demanded of the postilion how he had 
not recognised Bertram when he saw him some time before at 
Kippletringan. To which he gave the very natural answer — 
‘Hout, what was I thinking about Ellangowan then ? It was 
the cry that was rising e’en now that the young Laird was 
found, that put me on finding out the likeness. There was 
nae missing it ance ane was set to look for’t.’ 

The obduracy of Hatteraick during the latter part of this 
scene was in some slight degree shaken. He was observed 
to twinkle with his eyelids; to attempt to raise his bound 
hands for the purpose of pulling his hat over his brow; to 
look angrily and impatiently to the road, as if anxious for 
the vehicle which was to remove him from the spot. At 
length Mr. Hazlewood, apprehensive that the popular fer- 

413 


guy; mannering 


ment might take a direction towards the prisoner, directed 
he should be taken to the post-chaise, and so removed to the 
town of Kippletringan, to be at Mr. Mac-Morlan’s disposal ; 
at the same time he sent an express to warn that gentleman 
of what had happened. ‘And now,’ he said to Bertram, ‘I 
should be happy if you would accompany me to Hazlewood 
House; but as that might not be so agreeable just now as I 
trust it will be in a day or two, you must allow me to return 
with you to Woodbourne. But you are on foot.’ — ‘O, if the 
young Laird would take my horse !’ — ‘Or mine’ — ‘Or mine,’ 
said half-a-dozen voices. — ‘Or mine; he can trot ten miles an 
hour without whip or spur, and he’s the young Laird’s frae 
this moment, if he likes to take him for a herezeld,^ as they 
ca’d it lang syne.’ Bertram readily accepted the horse as a 
loan, and poured forth his thanks to the assembled crowd 
for their good wishes, which they repaid with shouts and 
vows of attachment. 

While the happy owner was directing one lad to ‘gae doun 
for the new saddle’ ; another, ‘just to rin the beast ower wi’ a 
dry wisp o’ strae’; a third, ‘to hie doun and borrow Dan 
Dunkieson’s plated stirrups,’ and expressing his regret ‘that 
there was nae time to gie the nag a feed, that the young 
Laird might ken his mettle,’ Bertram, taking the clergyman 
by the arm, walked into the vault and shut the door imme- 
diately after them. He gazed in silence for some minutes 
upon the body of Meg Merrilies, as it lay before him, with 
the features sharpened by death, yet still retaining the stern 
and energetic character which had maintained in life her su- 
periority as the wild chieftainess of the lawless people 
amongst whom she was born. The young soldier dried the 
tears which involuntarily rose on viewing this wreck of one 
who might be said to have died a victim to her fidelity to his 
person and family. He then took the clergyman’s hand and 
asked solemnly if she appeared able to give that attention to 
his devotions which befitted a departing person. 

‘My dear sir,’ said the good minister, ‘I trust this poor 
woman had remaining sense to feel and join in the import of 
my prayers. But let us humbly hope we are judged of by 


^ See Note 15. 


414 


GUY MANNERING 


our opportunities of religious and moral instruction. In 
some degree she might be considered as an uninstructed 
heathen, even in the bosom of a Christian country ; and let us 
remember that the errors and vices of an ignorant life were 
balanced by instances of disinterested attachment, amounting 
almost to heroism. To Him who can alone weigh our 
crimes and errors against our efforts towards virtue we con- 
sign her with awe, but not without hope.’ 

‘May I request,’ said Bertram, ‘that you will see every 
decent solemnity attended to in behalf of this poor woman? 
I have some property belonging to her in my hands; at all 
events I will be answerable for the expense. You will hear 
of me at Woodbourne.’ 

Dinmont, who had been furnished with a horse by one of 
his acquaintance, now loudly called out that all was ready 
for their return; and Bertram and Hazlewood, after a strict 
exhortation to the crowd, which was now increased to sev- 
eral hundreds, to preserve good order in their rejoicing, as 
the least ungoverned zeal might be turned to the disadvan- 
tage of the young Laird, as they termed him, took their leave 
amid the shouts of the multitude. 

As they rode past the ruined cottages at Derncleugh, Din- 
mont said, ‘I’m sure when ye come to your ain. Captain, ye’ll 
no forget to bigg a bit cot-house there ? Deil be in me but I 
wad do’t mysell, an it werena in better hands. I wadna like 
to live in’t though, after what she said. Odd, I wad put in 
auld Elspeth, the bedral’s widow; the like o’ them’s used wi’ 
graves and ghaists and thae things.’ 

A short but brisk ride brought them to Woodbourne. The 
news of their exploit had already flown far and wide, and the 
whole inhabitants of the vicinity met them on the lawn with 
shouts of congratulation. ‘That you have seen me alive,’ 
said Bertram to Lucy, who first ran up to him, though Julia’s 
eyes even anticipated hers, ‘you must thank these kind 
friends.’ 

With a blush expressing at once pleasure, gratitude, and 
bashfulness, Lucy courtesied to Hazlewood, but to Dinmont 
she frankly extended her hand. The honest farmer, in the 
extravagance of his joy; carried his freedom farther than the 
hint warranted, for he imprinted his thanks on the lady’s 

415 


GUY MANNERING 


lips, and was instantly shocked at the rudeness of his own 
conduct. ‘Lord sake, madam, I ask your pardon,’ he said. 
‘I forgot but ye had been a bairn o’ my ain; the Captain’s 
sae hamely, he gars ane forget himsell.’ 

Old Pleydell now advanced. ‘Nay, if fees like these are 
going,’ he said 

‘Stop, stop, Mr. Pleydell,’ said Julia, ‘you had your fees 
beforehand ; remember last night.’ 

‘Why, I do confess a retainer,’ said the Barrister ; ‘but if I 
don’t deserve double fees from both Miss Bertram and you 
when I conclude my examination of Dirk Hatteraick to-mor- 
row — Gad, I will so supple him! You shall see. Colonel; 
and you, my saucy misses, though you may not see, shall 
hear.’ 

‘Ay, that’s if we choose to listen, Counsellor,’ replied Julia. 

'And you think,’ said Pleydell, ‘it’s two to one you won’t 
choose that? But you have curiosity that teaches you the 
use of your ears now and then.’ 

‘I declare. Counsellor,’ answered the lively damsel, ‘that 
such saucy bachelors as you would teach us the use of our 
fingers now and then.’ 

‘Reserve them for the harpsichord, my love,’ said the 
Counsellor. ‘Better for all parties.’ 

While this idle chat ran on. Colonel Mannering introduced 
to Bertram a plain good-looking man, in a grey coat and 
waist-coat, buckskin breeches, and boots. ‘This, my dear sir, 
is Mr. Mac-Morlan.’ 

‘To whom,’ said Bertram, embracing him cordially, ‘my 
sister was indebted for a home, when deserted by all her nat- 
ural friends and relations.’ 

The Dominie then pressed forward, grinned, chuckled, 
made a diabolical sound in attempting to whistle, and finally, 
unable to stifle his emotions, ran away to empty the feelings 
of his heart at his eyes. 

We shall not attempt to describe the expansion of heart 
and glee of this happy evening. 


416 


GUY MAJ^^NERING 


CHAPTER LVI. 


How like a hateful ape, 

Detected grinning ’midst his pilfer’d hoard, 

A cunning man appears, whose secret frauds 
Are open’d to the day ! 

Count Basil. 

T here was a great movement at Woodbourne early on 
the following morning to attend the examination at 
Kippletringan. Mr. Pleydell, from the investigation which 
he had formerly bestowed on the dark affair of Kennedy’s 
death, as well as from the general deference due to his pro- 
fessional abilities, was requested by Mr. Mac-Morlan and Sir 
Robert Hazlewood, and another justice of peace who at- 
tended, to take the situation of chairman and the lead in the 
examination. Colonel Mannering was invited to sit down 
with them. The examination, being previous to trial, was 
private in other respects. 

The Counsellor resumed and reinterrogated former evi- 
dence. He then examined the clergyman and surgeon re- 
specting the dying declaration of Meg Merrilies. They 
stated that she distinctly, positively, and repeatedly declared 
herself an eye-witness of Kennedy’s death by the hands of 
Hatteraick and two or three of his crew; that her presence 
was accidental; that she believed their resentment at meet- 
ing him, when they were in the act of losing their vessel 
through the means of his information, led to the commission 
of the crime ; that she said there was one witness of the mur- 
der, but who refused to participate in it, still alive — her 
nephew, Gabriel Faa; and she had hinted at another person 
who was an accessory after, not before, the fact; but her 
strength there failed her. They did not forget to mention 
her declaration that she had saved the child, and that he was 
torn from her by the smugglers for the purpose of carrying 
him to Holland. All these particulars were carefully reduced 
to writing. 

Dirk Hatteraick was then brought in, heavily ironed; for 

27 • 417 


GUY MANNERING 


he had been strictly secured and guarded, owing to his for- 
mer escape. He was asked his name ; he made no answer. 
His profession; he was silent. Several other questions were 
put, to none of which he returned any reply. Pleydell wiped 
the glasses of his spectacles and considered the prisoner very 
attentively. ‘A very truculent-looking fellow,’ he whispered 
to Mannering; ‘but, as Dogberry says. I’ll go cunningly to 
work with him. Here, call in Soles — Soles the shoemaker. 
Soles, do you remember measuring some footsteps imprinted 

on the mud at* the wood of Warroch on November 17 — , 

by my orders ?’ Soles remembered the circumstance perfect- 
ly. ‘Look at that paper; is that your note of the measure- 
ment?’ Soles verified the memorandum. ‘Now, there stands 
a pair of shoes on that table; measure them, and see if they 
correspond with any of the marks you have noted there.’ 
The shoemaker obeyed, and declared ‘that they answered ex- 
actly to the largest of the footprints.’ 

‘We shall prove,’ said the Counsellor, aside to Mannering, 
‘that these shoes, which were found in the ruins at Dern- 
cleugh, belonged to Brown, the fellow whom you shot on 
the lawn at Woodbourne. Now, Soles, measure that prison- 
er’s feet very accurately. 

Mannering observed Hatteraick strictly, and could notice 
a visible tremor. ‘Do these measurements correspond with 
any of the footprints?’ 

The man looked at the note, then at his foot-rule and 
measure, then verified his former measurement by a second. 
‘They correspond,’ he said, ‘within a hair-breadth to a foot- 
mark broader and shorter than the former.’ 

Hatteraick’s genius here deserted him. ‘Der deyvil !’ he 
broke out, ‘how could there be a footmark on the ground, 
when it was a frost as hard as the heart of a Memel log?’ 

‘In the evening, I grant you. Captain Hatteraick,’ said 
Pleydell, ‘but not in the forenoon. Will you favour me with 
information where you were upon the day you remember so 
exactly ?’ 

Hatteraick saw his blunder, and again screwed up his hard 
features for obstinate silence. ‘Put down his observation, 
however,’ said Pleydell to the clerk. 

At this moment the door opened, and, much to the surprise 
418 


GUY MANNERING 


of most present, Mr. Gilbert Glossin made his appearance. 
That worthy gentleman had, by dint of watching and eaves- 
dropping, ascertained that he was not mentioned by name in 
Meg Merrilies’s dying declaration — a circumstance certainly 
not owing to any favourable disposition towards him, but to 
the delay of taking her regular examination, and to the rapid 
approach of death. He therefore supposed himself safe from 
all evidence but such as might arise from Hatteraick’s con- 
fession ; to prevent which he resolved to push a bold face and 
join his brethren of the bench during his examination. T 
shall be able,’ he thought, ‘to make the rascal sensible his 
safety lies in keeping his own counsel and mine; and my 
presence, besides, will be a proof of confidence and innocence. 
If I must lose the estate, I must; but I trust better 
things.’ 

He entered with a profound salutation to Sir Robert 
Hazlewood. Sir Robert, who had rather begun to suspect 
that his plebeian neighbour had made a cat’s paw of him, in- 
clined his head stiffly, took snuff, and looked another way. 

‘Mr. Corsand,’ said Glossin to the other yokefellow of 
justice, ‘your most humble servant.’ 

‘Your humble servant, Mr. Glossin,’ answered Mr. Corsand 
drily, composing his countenance regis ad exemplar ^ that is to 
say, after the fashion of the Baronet. 

‘Mac-Morlan, my worthy friend,’ continued Glossin, ‘how 
d’ye do; always on your duty?’ 

‘Umph,’ said honest Mac-Morlan, with little respect either 
to the compliment or salutation. 

‘Colonel Mannering (a low bow slightly returned), and 
Mr. Pleydell (another low bow), I dared not have hoped for 
your assistance to poor country gentlemen at this period of 
the session.’ 

Pleydell took snuff, and eyed him with a glance equally 
shrewd and sarcastic. ‘I’ll teach him,’ he said aside to Man- 
nering, ‘the value of the old admonition, Ne accesseris in con- 
silium antequam vocerisf 

‘But perhaps I intrude, gentlemen?’ said Glossin, who 
could not fail to observe the coldness of his reception. ‘Is 
this an open meeting?’ 

‘For my part,’ said Mr. Pleydell, ‘so far from considering 
419 


GUYi MANNERING 


your attendance as an intrusion, Mr. Glossin, I was never so 
pleased in my life to meet with you ; especially as I think we 
should, at any rate, have had occasion to request the favour 
of your company in the course of the day.’ 

‘Well, then, gentlemen,’ said Glossin, drawing his chair 
to the table, and beginning to bustle about among the papers, 
‘where are we ? how far have we got ? where are the declara- 
tions ?’ I 

‘Clerk, give me all these papers,’ said Mr. Pleydell. ‘I j 
have an odd way of arranging my documents, Mr. Glossin, 
another person touching them puts me out; but I shall have 
occasion for your assistance by and by.’ 

Glossin, thus reduced to inactivity, stole one glance at Dirk 
Hatteraick, but could read nothing in his dark scowl save 
malignity and hatred to all around. ‘But, gentlemen,’ 
said Glossin, ‘is it quite right to keep this poor man 
so heavily ironed when he is taken up merely for examina- 
tion ?’ 

This was hoisting a kind of friendly signal to the prisoner. 
‘He has escaped once before,’ said Mac-Morlan drily, and 
Glossin was silenced. 

Bertram was now introduced, and, to Glossin’s confusion, 
was greeted in the most friendly manner by all present, even 
by Sir Robert Hazlewood himself. He told his recollections 
of his infancy with that candour and caution of expression 
which afforded the best warrant for his good faith. ‘This 
seems to be rather a civil than a criminal question,’ said 
Glossin, rising; ‘and as you cannot be ignorant, gentlemen, 
of the effect which this young person’s pretended parentage 
may have on my patrimonial interests, I would rather beg 
leave to retire.’ 

‘No, my good sir,’ said Mr. Pleydell, ‘we can by no means 
spare you. But why do you call this young man’s claims pre- 
tended? I don’t mean to fish for your defences against them, 
if you have any, but ’ 

‘Mr. Pleydell,’ replied Glossin, ‘I am always disposed to 
act above-board, and I think I can explain the matter at once. 
This young fellow, whom I take to be a natural son of the 
late Ellangowan, has gone about the country for some weeks 
under different names, caballing with a wretched old mad- 

420 


GUY MANNERING 


woman, who, I understand, was shot in a late scuflfle, and 
with other tinkers, gipsies, and persons of that description, 
and a great brute farmer from Liddesdale, stirring up the 
tenants against their landlords, which, as Sir Robert Hazle- 
wood of Hazlewood knows 

‘Not to interrupt you, Mr. Glossin,’ said Pleydell, ‘I ask 
who you say this young man is ?’ 

‘Why, I say,’ replied Glossin, ‘and I believe that gentle- 
man (looking at Hatteraick) knows, that the young man is a 
natural son of the late Ellangowan, by a girl called Janet 
Lightoheel, who was afterwards married to Hewit the 
shipwright, that lived in the neighbourhood of Annan. 
His name is Godfrey Bertram Hewit, by which name 
he was entered on board the “Royal Caroline” excise 
yacht.’ 

‘Ay ?’ said Pleydell, ‘that is a very likely story ! But, not 
to pause upon some difference of eyes, complexion, and so 
forth — be pleased to step forward, sir.’ (A young seafaring 
man came forward.) ‘Here,’ proceeded the Counsellor, ‘is 
the real Simon Pure ; here’s Godfrey Bertram Hewit, arrived 
last night from Antigua via Liverpool, mate of a West- 
Indian, and in a fair way of doing well in the world, although 
he came somewhat irregularly into it.’ 

While some conversation passed between the other justices 
and this young man, Pleydell lifted from among the papers 
on the table Hatteraick’s old pocket-book. A peculiar glance 
of the smuggler’s eye induced the shrewd lawyer to think 
there was something here of interest. He therefore contin- 
ued the examination of the papers, laying the book on the 
table, but instantly perceived that the prisoner’s interest in 
the research had cooled. ‘It must be in the book still, what- 
ever it is,’ thought Pleydell ; and again applied himself to the 
pocket-book, until he discovered, on a narrow scrutiny, a slit 
between the pasteboard and leather, out of which he drew 
three small slips of paper. Pleydell now, turning to Glossin, 
requested the favour that he would tell them if he had as- 
sisted at the search for the body of Kennedy and the child of 
his patron on the day when they disappeared. 

‘I did not — that is, I did,’ answered the conscience-struck 
Glossin. 


421 


GUY MANNERING 


It is remarkable though/ said the Advocate, 'that, con- 
nected as you were with the Ellangowan family, I don’t rec- 
ollect your being examined, or even appearing before me, 
while that investigation was proceeding ?’ 

‘I was called to London/ answered Glossin, 'on most im- 
portant business the morning after that sad affair/ 

'Clerk,’ said Pleydell, ‘minute down that reply. I presume 
the business, Mr. Glossin, was to negotiate these three bills, 
drawn by you on Messrs. Vanbeest and Vanbruggen, and 
accepted by one Dirk Hatteraick in their name on the very 
day of the murder. I congratulate you on their being regu- 
larly retired, as I perceive they have been. I think the 
chances were against it.’ Glossin’s countenance fell. ‘This 
piece of real evidence,’ continued Mr. Pleydell, ‘makes good 
the account given of your conduct on this occasion by a man 
called Gabriel Faa, whom we have now in custody, and who 
witnessed the whole transaction between you and that worthy 
prisoner. Have you any explanation to give?’ 

‘Mr. Pleydell,’ said Glossin, with great composure, ‘I pre- 
sume, if you were my counsel, you would not advise 
me to answer upon the spur of the moment to a charge 
which the basest of mankind seem ready to establish by 
perjury.’ 

‘My advice,’ said the Counsellor, ‘would be regulated by 
my opinion of your innocence or guilt. In your case, I be- 
lieve you take the wisest course ; but you are aware you must 
stand committed?’ 

‘Committed? for what, sir?’ replied Glossin. ‘Upon a 
charge of murder?’ 

‘No; only as art and part of kidnapping the child.’ 

‘That is a bailable offence.’ 

‘Pardon me,’ said Pleydell, ‘it is plagium, and plagium is 
felony.’ 

‘Forgive me, Mr. Pleydell, there is only one case upon 
record, Torrence and Waldie. They were, you remember, 
resurrection-women, who had promised to procure a child’s 
body for some young surgeons. Being upon honour to their 
employers, rather than disappoint the evening lecture of the 
students, they stole a live child, murdered it, and sold the 
body for three shillings and sixpence. They were hanged, 

422 


guy; mannering 


but for the murder, not for the plagium}' Your civil law has 
carried you a little too far.’ 

‘Well, sir, but in the meantime Mr. Mac-Morlan must 
commit you to the county jail, in case this young man re- 
peats the same story. Officers, remove Mr. Glossin and Hat- 
teraick, and guard them in different apartments.’ 

Gabriel, the gipsy, was then introduced, and gave a distinct 
account of his deserting from Captain Pritchard’s vessel and 
joining the smugglers in the action, detailed how Dirk Hat- 
teraick set fire to his ship when he found her disabled, and 
under cover of the smoke escaped with his crew, and as much 
goods as they could save, into the cavern, where they pro- 
posed to lie till nightfall. Hatteraick himself, his mate Van- 
beest Brown, and three others, of whom the declarant was 
one, went into the adjacent woods to communicate with some 
of their friends in the neighbourhood. They fell in with 
Kennedy unexpectedly, and Hatteraick and Brown, aware 
that he was the occasion of their disasters, resolved to murder 
him. He stated that he had seen them lay violent hands on 
the officer and drag him through the woods, but had not par- 
taken in the assault nor witnessed its termination; that he 
returned to the cavern by a different route, where he again 
met Hatteraick and his accomplices; and the captain was in 
the act of giving an account how he and Brown had pushed 
a huge crag over, as Kennedy lay groaning on the beach, 
when Glossin suddenly appeared among them. To the whole 
transaction by which Hatteraick purchased his secrecy he 
was witness. Respecting young Bertram, he could give a 
distinct account till he went to India, after which he had lost 
sight of him until he unexpectedly met with him in Liddes- 
dale. Gabriel Faa farther stated that he instantly sent no- 
tice to his aunt Meg Merrilies as well as to Hatteraick, who 
he knew was then upon the coast; but that he had incurred 
his aunt’s displeasure upon the latter account. He con- 
cluded, that his aunt had immediately declared that she 
would do all that lay in her power to help young Ellangowan 
to his right, even if it should be by informing against Dirk 


‘This is, in its circumstances and issue, actually a case tried and 
reported. 

423 


GUY MANNERING 


Hatteraick; and that many of her people assisted her besides 
himself, from a belief that she was gifted with supernatural 
inspirations. With the same purpose, he understood his aunt 
had given to Bertram the treasure of the tribe, of which she 
had the custody. Three or four gipsies, by the express com- 
mand of Meg Merrilies, mingled in the crowd when the 
custom-house was attacked, for the purpose of liberating 
Bertram, which he had himself effected. He said, that in 
obeying Meg’s dictates they did not pretend to estimate their 
propriety or rationality, the respect in which she was held by 
her tribe precluding all such subjects of speculation. Upon 
farther interrogation, the witness added, that his aunt had 
always said that Harry Bertram carried that round his neck 
which would ascertain his birth. It was a spell, she said, 
that an Oxford scholar had made for him, and she possessed 
the smugglers with an opinion that to deprive him of it would 
occasion the loss of the vessel. 

Bertram here produced a small velvet bag, which he said 
he had worn round his neck from his earliest infancy, and 
which he had preserved, first from superstitious reverence, 
and latterly from the hope that it might serve one day to aid 
in the discovery of his birth. The bag, being opened, was 
found to contain a blue silk case, from which was drawn 
a scheme of nativity. Upon inspecting this paper. Colonel 
Mannering instantly admitted it was his own composition; 
and afforded the strongest and most satisfactory evidence 
that the possessor of it must necessarily be the young heir of 
Ellangowan, by avowing his having first appeared in that 
country in the character of an astrologer. 

‘And now,’ said Pleydell, ‘make out warrants of commit- 
ment for Hatteraick and Glossin until liberated in due course 
of law. Yet,’ he said, ‘I am sorry for Glossin.’ 

‘Now, I think,’ said Mannering, ‘he’s incomparably the 
least deserving of pity of the two. The other’s a bold fel- 
low, though as hard as flint.’ 

‘Very natural. Colonel,’ said the Advocate, ‘that you should 
be interested in the ruffian and I in the knave, that’s all pro- 
fessional taste ; but I can tell you Glossin would have been a 
pretty lawyer had he not had such a turn for the roguish 
part of the profession.’ 


424 


GUY MANNERING 


Scandal would say/ observed Mannering, ‘he might not 
be the worse lawyer for that.’ 

Scandal would tell a lie, then,’ replied Pleydell, ‘as she 
usually does. Law’s like laudanum : it’s much more easy to 
use it as a quack does than to learn to apply it like a 
physician/ 


CHAPTER LVIL 

Unfit to live or die — O marble heart ! 

After him, fellows, drag him to the block. 

Measure for Measure. 

T he jail at the county town of the shire of was one 

of those old-fashioned dungeons which disgraced 
Scotland until of late years. When the prisoners and their 
guard arrived there, Hatteraick, whose violence and strength 
were well known, was secured in what was called the con- 
demned ward. This was a large apartment near the top of 
the prison. A round bar of iron,^ about the thickness of a 
man’s arm above the elbow, crossed the apartment horizon- 
tally at the height of about six inches from the floor ; and its 
extremities were strongly built into the wall at either end. 
Hatteraick’s ankles were secured within shackles, which were 
connected by a chain, at the distance of about four feet, with 
a large iron ring, which travelled upon the bar we have de- 
scribed. Thus a prisoner might shuffle along the length of 
the bar from one side of the room to another, but could not 
retreat farther from it in any other direction than the brief 
length of the chain admitted. When his feet had been thus 
secured, the keeper removed his handcuffs and left his person 
at liberty in other respects. A pallet-bed was placed close 
to the bar of iron, so that the shackled prisoner might lie 
down at pleasure, still fastened to the iron bar in the manner 
described. 

Hatteraick had not been long in this place of confinement 
before Glossin arrived at the same prison-house. In respect 
to his comparative rank and education, he was not ironed. 


^ See The Gad. Note i6. 


425 


GUY MANNERING 


but placed in a decent apartment, under the inspection of 
Mac-Guffog, who, since the destruction of the bridewell of 
Portanferry by the mob, had acted here as an under-turnkey. 
When Glossin was inclosed within this room, and had solitude 
and leisure to calculate all the chances against him and in his 
favour, he could not prevail upon himself to consider the 
game as desperate. 

‘The estate is lost,’ he said, ‘that must go; and, between 
Pleydell and Mac-Morlan, they’ll cut down my claim on it 
to a trifle. My character — but if I get oflf with life and lib- 
erty Pll win money yet and varnish that over again. I knew 
not of the gauger’s job until the rascal had done the deed, 
and, though I had some advantage by the contraband, that is 
no felony. But the kidnapping of the boy — there they touch 
me closer. Let me see. This Bertram was a child at the 
time ; his evidence must be imperfect. The other fellow is a 
deserter, a gipsy, and an outlaw. Meg Merrilies, d — n her, 
is dead. These infernal bills ! Hatteraick brought them 
with him, I suppose, to have the means of threatening me or 
extorting money from me. I must endeavour to see the ras- 
cal ; must get him to stand steady ; must persuade him to put 
some other colour upon the business.’ 

His mind teeming with schemes of future deceit to cover 
former villainy, he spent the time in arranging and combining 
them until the hour of supper. Mac-Guffog attended as turn- 
key on this occasion. He was, as we know, the old and* spe- 
cial acquaintance of the prisoner who was now under his 
charge. After giving the turnkey a glass of brandy, and 
sounding him with one or two cajoling speeches, Glossin 
made it his request that he would help him to an interview 
with Dirk Hatteraick. ‘Impossible! utterly impossible! it’s 
contrary to the express, orders of Mr. Mac-Morlan, and the 
captain (as the head jailer of a county jail is called in Scot- 
land) would never forgie me.’ 

‘But why should he know of it?’ said Glossin, slipping a 
couple of guineas into Mac-Guffog’s hand. 

The turnkey weighed the gold and looked sharp at Glossin. 
‘Ay, ay, Mr. Glossin, ye ken the ways o’ this place. Lookee, 
at lock-up hour I’ll return and bring ye upstairs to him. 
But ye must stay a’ night in his cell, for I am under needces- 

426 


GUY MANNERING 


sity to carry the keys to the captain for the night, and I can- 
not let you out again until morning; then Ell visit the wards 
half an hour earlier than usual, and ye may get out and be 
snug in your ain birth when the captain gangs his rounds/ 

When the hour of ten had pealed from the neighbouring 
steeple Mac-Guffog came prepared with a small dark lantern. 
He said softly to Glossin, ‘Slip your shoes off and follow me.' 
When Glossin was out of the door, Mac-Guifog, as if in the 
execution of his ordinary duty, and speaking to a prisoner 
within, called aloud, ‘Good-night to you, sir,’ and locked the 
door, clattering the bolts with much ostentatious noise. He 
then guided Glossin up a steep and narrow stair, at the top 
of which was the door of the condemned ward; he unbarred 
and unlocked it, and, giving Glossin the lantern, made a sign 
to him to enter, and locked the door behind him with the 
same affected accuracy. 

In the large dark cell into which he was thus introduced 
Glossin’s feeble light for some time enabled him to discover 
nothing. At length he could dimly distinguish the pallet- 
bed stretched on the floor beside the great iron bar which 
traversed the room, and on that pallet reposed the figure of a 
man. Glossin approached him. ‘Dirk Hatteraick!’ 

‘Donner and hagel ! it is his voice,’ said the prisoner, sitting 
up and clashing his fetters as he rose ; ‘then my dream is true ! 
Begone, and leave me to myself ; it will be your best.’ 

‘What ! my good friend,’ said Glossin, ‘will you allow the 
prospect of a few weeks’ confinement to depress your spirit?’ 

‘Yes,’ answered the ruffian, sullenly, ‘when I am only to 
be released by a halter ! Let me alone ; go about your busi- 
ness, and turn the lamp from my face !’ 

‘Psha ! my dear Dirk, don’t be afraid,’ said Glossin ; ‘I 
have a glorious plan to make all right.’ 

‘To the bottomless pit with your plans !’ replied his ac- 
complice; ‘you have planned me out of ship, cargo, and life; 
and I dreamt this moment that Meg Merrilies dragged you 
here by the hair and gave me the long clasped knife she used 
to wear; you don’t know what she said. Sturmwetter! it 
will be your wisdom not to tempt me !’ 

‘But, Hatteraick, my good friend, do but rise and speak to 
me,’ said Glossin. 

427 




GUY MANNERING 

'I will not!’ answered the savage, doggedly. ‘You have ;• 
caused all the mischief ; you would not let Meg keep the boy ; ; 

she would have returned him after he had forgot all.’ * 

‘Why, Hatteraick, you are turned driveller !’ 

‘Wetter! will you deny that all that cursed attempt at Por- 
tanferry, which lost both sloop and crew, was your device 
for your own job?’ 

‘But the goods, you know ’ 

‘Curse the goods !’ said the smuggler, ‘we could have got 
plenty more; but, der deyvil! to lose the ship and the fine 
fellows, and my own life, for a cursed coward villain, that 
always works his own mischief with other people’s hands ! 
Speak to me no more ; I’m dangerous.’ 

‘But, Dirk — ^but, Hatteraick, hear me only a few words.’ 

‘Hagel ! nein.’ 

‘Only one sentence.’ 

‘Tausend curses ! nein.’ 

‘At least get up, for an obstinate Dutch brute !’ said Glos- 
sin, losing his temper and pushing Hatteraick with his foot. 

‘Donner and blitzen!’ said Hatteraick, springing up and 
grappling with him; ‘you will have it then?’ 

Glossin struggled and resisted; but, owing to his surprise 
at the fury of the assault, so ineffectually that he fell under 
Hatteraick, the back part of his neck coming full upon the 1 
iron bar with stunning violence. The death-grapple contin- 
ued. The room immediately below the condemned ward, 
being that of Glossin, was, of course, empty ; but the inmates ^ 
of the second apartment beneath felt the shock of Glossin’s 
heavy fall, and heard a noise as of struggling and of groans. 
But all sounds of horror were too congenial to this place to 
excite much curiosity or interest. 

In the morning, faithful to his promise, Mac-Guffog came. 
‘Mr. Glossin,’ said he, in a whispering voice. 

‘Call louder,’ answered Dirk Hatteraick. 

‘Mr. Glossin, for God’s sake come away !’ j, 

‘Pie’ll hardly do that without help,’ said Hatteraick. | 

‘What are you chattering there for, Mac-Guffog?’ called | 
out the captain from below. 

‘Come away, for God’s sake, Mr. Glossin!’ repeated the 
turnkey. 

428 


GUY MANNERING 

At this moment the jailor made his appearance with a light. 
Great was his surprise, and even horror, to observe Glossiu’s 
body lying doubled across the iron bar, in a posture that 
excluded all idea of his being alive. Hatteraick was quietly 
stretched upon his pallet within a yard of his victim. On 
lifting Glossin it was found he had been dead for some hours. 
His body bore uncommon marks of violence. The spine 
where it joins the skull had received severe injury by his first 
fall. There were distinct marks of strangulation about the 
throat, which corresponded with the blackened state of his 
face. The head was turned backward over the shoulder, as 
if the neck had been wrung round with desperate violence. 
So that it would seem that his inveterate antagonist had fixed 
a fatal gripe upon the wretch’s throat, and never quitted it 
while life lasted. The lantern, crushed and broken to pieces, 
lay beneath the body. 

Mac-Morlan was in the town, and came instantly to exam- 
ine the corpse. ‘What brought Glossin here ?’ he said to Hat- 
teraick. 

‘The devil !’ answered the ruffian. 

‘And what did you do to him ?’ 

‘Sent him to hell before me!’ replied the miscreant. 

‘Wretch,’ said Mac-Morlan, ‘you have crowned a life spent 
without a single virtue with the murder of your own miser- 
able accomplice 1’ 

‘Virtue?’ exclaimed the prisoner. ‘Donner! I was always 
faithful to my shipowners — always accounted for cargo to 
the last stiver. Hark ye! let me have pen and ink and I’ll 
write an account of the whole to our house; and leave me 
alone a couple of hours, will ye ; and let them take away that 
piece of carrion, donnerwetter !’ 

Mac-Morlan deemed it the best way to humour the sav- 
age ; he was furnished with writing materials and left alone. 
When they again opened the door it was found that this de- 
termined villain had anticipated justice. He had adjusted a 
cord taken from the truckle-bed, and attached it to a bone, 
the relic of his yesterday’s dinner, which he had contrived to 
drive into a crevice between two stones in the wall at a height 
as great as he could reach, standing upon the bar. Having 
fastened tl\e noose, he had the resolution to drop his body as 

429 


GUYI MANNERING 


if to fall on his knees, and to retain that posture until resolu- 
tion was no longer necessary. The letter he had written to 
his owners, though chiefly upon the business of their trade, 
contained many allusions to the younker of Ellangowan, as 
he called him, and aflforded absolute confirmation of all Meg 
Merrilies and her nephew had told. 

To dismiss the catastrophe of these two wretched men, I 
shall only add, that Mac-Guffog was turned out of office, not- 
withstanding his declaration (which he offered to attest by 
oath), that he had locked Glossin safely in his own room 
upon the night preceding his being found dead in Dirk Hat- 
teraick’s cell. His story, however, found faith with the 
worthy Mr. Skreigh and other lovers of the marvellous, who 
still hold that the Enemy of Mankind brought these two 
wretches together upon that night by supernatural interfer- 
ence, that they might fill up the cup of their guilt and receive 
its meed by murder and suicide. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 


To sum the whole — the close of all. 


Dean Swift. 


S Glossin died without heirs, and without payment of 



-A V the price, the estate of Ellangowan was again thrown 
upon the hands of Mr. Godfrey Bertram’s creditors, the right 
of most of whom was, however, defeasible in case Henry 
Bertram should establish his character of heir of entail. This 
young gentleman put his affairs into the hands of Mr. Pley- 
dell and Mr. Mac-Morlan, with one single proviso, that, 
though he himself should be obliged again to go to India, 
every debt justly and honourably due by his father should be 
made good to the claimant. Mannering, who heard this dec- 
laration, grasped him kindly by the hand, and from that mo- 
ment might be dated a thorough understanding between 


them. 


The hoards of Miss Margaret Bertram, and the liberal as- 
sistance of the Colonel, easily enabled the heir to make pro- 
vision for payment of the just creditors of his father, while 


430 


GUY MANNERING 


the ingenuity and research of his law friends detected, espe- 
cially in the accounts of Glossin, so many overcharges as 
greatly diminished the total amount. In these circumstances 
the creditors did not hesitate to recognise Bertram’s right, 
and to surrender to him the house and property of his ances- 
tors. All the party repaired from Woodbourne to take pos- 
session, amid the shouts of the tenantry and the neighbour- 
hood; and so eager was Colonel Mannering to superintend 
certain improvements which he had recommended to Ber- 
tram, that he removed with his family from Woodbourne to 
Ellangowan, although at present containing much less and 
much inferior accommodation. 

The poor Dominie’s brain was almost turned with joy on 
returning to his old habitation. He posted upstairs, taking 
three steps at once, to a little shabby attic, his cell and dormi- 
tory in former days, and which the possession of his much 
superior apartment at Woodbourne had never banished from 
his memory. Here one sad thought suddenly struck the 
honest man — the books ! no three rooms in Ellangowan were 
capable to contain them. While this qualifying reflection 
was passing through his mind, he was suddenly summoned 
by Mannering to assist in calculating some proportions relat- 
ing to a large and splendid house which was to be built on the 
site of the New Place of Ellangowan, in a style correspond- 
ing to the magnificence of the ruins in its vicinity. Among 
the various rooms in the plan, the Dominie observed that one 
of the largest was entitled The Library; and close beside 
was a snug*, well-proportioned chamber, entitled Mr. Samp- 
son’s Apartment. 'Prodigious, prodigious, pro-di-gi-ous !’ 
shouted the enraptured Dominie. 

Mr. Pleydell had left the party for some time; but he re- 
turned, according to promise, during the Christmas recess of 
the courts. He drove up to Ellangowan when all the family 
were abroad but the Colonel, who was busy with plans of 
buildings and pleasure-grounds, in which he was well skilled, 
and took great delight. 

'Ah ha!’ said the Counsellor, 'so here you are! Where 
are the ladies? where is the fair Julia?’ 

'Walking out with young Haziewood, Bertram, and Cap- 
tain Delaserre, a friend of his, who is with us just now. They 

431 


GUY MANNERING 


are gone to plan out a cottage at Derncleugh. Well, have 
you carried through your law business T 

‘With a wet finger,’ answered the lawyer; ‘got our young- 
ster’s special service retoured into Chancery. We had him 
served heir before the macers.’ 

‘Macers? who are they?’ 

‘Why, it is a kind of judicial Saturnalia. You must know, 
that one of the requisites to be a macer, or officer in attend- 
ance upon our supreme court, is, that they shall be men of 
no knowledge.’ 

‘Very well !’ 

‘Now, our Scottish legislature, for the joke’s sake I sup- 
pose, have constituted those men of no knowledge into a pe- 
culiar court for trying questions of relationship and descent, 
such as this business of Bertram, which often involve the 
most nice and complicated questions of evidence.’ 

‘The devil they have! I should think that rather incon- 
venient,’ said Mannering. 

‘O, we have a practical remedy for the theoretical absurd- 
ity. One or two of the judges act upon such occasions as 
prompters and assessors to their own doorkeepers. But you 
know what Cujacius says, “Multa sunt in moribus dissenta- 
nea, multa sine ratione”'^ However, this Saturnalian court 
has done our business ; and a glorious batch of claret we 
had afterwards at Walker’s. Mac-Morlan will stare when 
he sees the bill.’ 

‘Never fear,’ said the Colonel, ‘we’ll face the shock, and 
entertain the county at my friend Mrs. Mac-Candlish’s to 
boot.’ 

‘And choose Jock Jabos for your master of horse?’ replied 
the lawyer. 

‘Perhaps I may.’ 

‘And where is Dandie, the redoubted Lord of Liddesdale ?’ 
demanded the advocate. 

‘Returned to his mountains; but he has promised Julia to 
make a descent in summer, with the goodwife, as he calls 
her, and I don’t know how many children.’ 

‘O, the curly-headed varlets I I must come to play at 

^The singular inconsistency hinted at is now, in a great degree, 
removed. 


432 


GUY MANNERING 


Blind Harry and Hy Spy with them. But what is all this ?’ 
added Pleydell, taking up the plans. ‘Tower in the centre to 
be an imitation of the Eagle Tower at Caernarvon — corps de 
logis the devil ! Wings — wings ! Why, the house will take 
the estate of Ellangowan on its back and fly away with it !’ 

Why, then, we must ballast it with a few bags of sicca 
rupees,’ replied the Colonel. 

Aha ! sits the wind there ? Then I suppose the young dog 
carries off my mistress Julia?’ 

‘Even so. Counsellor.’ 

These rascals, the post-nati, get the better of us of the old 
school at every turn,’ said Mr. Pleydell. ‘But she must con- 
vey and make over her interest in me to Lucy.’ 

‘To tell you the truth, I am afraid your flank will be turned 
there too,’ replied the Colonel. 

‘Indeed?’ 

‘Here has been Sir Robert Hazlewood,’ said Mannering, 
‘upon a visit to Bertram, thinking and deeming and opin- 
ing ’ 

‘O Lord! pray spare me the worthy Baronet’s triads!’ 

‘Well, sir,’ continued* Mannering, ‘to make short, he con- 
ceived that, as the property of Singleside lay like a wedge 
between two farms of his, and was four or five miles sepa- 
rated from Ellangowan, something like a sale or exchange 
or arrangement might take place, to the mutual convenience 
of both parties.’ 

‘Well, and Bertram ’ 

‘Why, Bertram replied, that he considered the original set- 
tlement of Mrs. Margaret Bertram as the arrangement most 
proper in the circumstances of the family, and that therefore 
the estate of Singleside was the property of his sister.’ 

‘The rascal !’ said Pleydell, wiping his spectacles. ‘He’ll 
steal my heart as well as my mistress. Et pidsf 

‘And then Sir Robert retired, after many gracious 
speeches ; but last week he again took the field in force, with 
his coach and six horses, his laced scarlet waistcoat, and best 
bob-wig — all very grand, as the good-boy books say.’ 

‘Ay! and what was his overture?’ 

‘Why, he talked with great form of an attachment on the 
part of Charles Hazlewood to Miss Bertram.’ 

433 


GUY MANNERING 


'Ay, ay; he respected the little god Cupid when he saw 
him perched on the Dun of Singleside. And is poor Lucy 
to keep house with that old fool and his wife, who is just the 
knight himself in petticoats ?’ 

‘No; we parried that. Singleside House is to be repaired 
for the young people, and to be called hereafter Mount Hazle- 
wood.' 

‘And do you yourself. Colonel, propose to continue at 
Woodbourne ?’ 

‘Only till we carry these plans into effect. See, here^s the 
plan of my bungalow, with all convenience for being separate 
and sulky when I please.’ 

'And, being situated, as I see, next door to the old castle, 
you may repair Donagild’s tower for the nocturnal contem- 
plation of the celestial bodies ? Bravo, Colonel !’ 

'No, no, my dear Counsellor! Here ends 
Astrologer.’ 


The 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


Note i. — Groaning Malt, p. 20 

T HE groaning malt mentioned in the text was the ale brewed for the 
purpose of being drunk after the lady or goodwife’s safe delivery. 
The ken-no has a more ancient source, and perhaps the custom may 
be derived from the secret rites of the Bona Dea. A large and rich 
cheese was made by the women of the family, with great affectation 
of secrecy, for the refreshment of the gossips who were to attend at 
the ‘ canny ’ minute. This was the ken-no, so called because its exist- 
ence was secret (that is, presumed to be so) from all the males of 
the family, but especially from the husband and master. He was ac- 
cordingly expected to conduct himself as if he knew of no such prepa- 
ration, to act as if desirous to press the female guests to refreshments, 
and to seem surprised at their obstinate refusal. But the instant his 
back was turned the ken-no was produced; and after all had eaten 
their fill, with a proper accompaniment of the groaning malt, the re- 
mainder was divided among the gossips, each carrying a large por- 
tion home with the same affectation of great secrecy. 

Note 2. — Mumps’s Ha’, p. 144 

It is fitting to explain to the reader the locality described in chapter 
xxii. There is, or rather I should say there was, a little inn called 
Mumps’s Hall, that is, being interpreted. Beggar’s Hotel, near to 
Gilsland, which had not then attained its present fame as a Spa. It 
was a hedge alehouse, where the Border fanners of either country 
often stopped to refresh themselves and their nags, in their way to 
and from the fairs and trysts in Cumberland, and especially those who 
came from or went to Scotland, through a barren and lonely district, 
without either road or pathway, emphatically called the Waste of 
Bewcastle. At the period when the adventures described in the novel 
are supposed to have taken place, there were many instances of attacks 
by freebooters on those who travelled through this wild district, and 
Mumps’s Ha’ had a bad reputation for harbouring the banditti who 
committed such depredations. 

An old and sturdy yeoman belonging to the Scottish side, by sur- 

435 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


name an Armstrong or Elliot, but well known by his soubriquet of 
Fighting Charlie of Liddesdale, and still remembered for the courage 
he displayed in the frequent frays which took place on the Border 
fifty or sixty years since, had the following adventure in the Waste, 
which suggested the idea of the scene in the text: — 

Charlie had been at Stagshawbank Fair, had sold his sheep or cattle, 
or whatever he had brought to market, and was on his return to 
Liddesdale. There were then no country banks where cash could be 
deposited and bills received instead, which greatly encouraged rob- 
bery in that wild country, as the objects of plunder were usually 
fraught with gold. The robbers had spies in the fair, by means of 
whom they generally knew whose purse was best stocked, and who 
took a lonely and desolate road homeward, — those, in short, who were 
best worth robbing and likely to be most easily robbed. 

All this Charlie knew full well ; but he had a pair of excellent pistols 
and a dauntless heart. He stopped at Mumps’s Ha’, notwithstanding 
the evil character of the place. His horse was accommodated where 
it might have the necessary rest and feed of corn ; and Charlie himself, 
a dashing fellow, grew gracious with the landlady, a buxom quean, 
who used all the influence in her power to induce him to stop all 
night. The landlord was from home, she said, and it was ill passing 
the Waste, as' twilight must needs descend on him before he gained 
the Scottfsh side, which was reckoned the safest. But Fighting 
Charlie, though he suffered himself to be detained later than was pru- 
dent, did not account Mumps’s Ha’ a safe place to quarter in during 
the night. He tore himself away, therefore, from Meg’s good fare 
and kind words, and mounted his nag, having first examined his 
pistols, and tried by the ramrod whether the charge remained in 
them. 

He proceeded a mile or two at a round trot, when, as the Waste 
stretched black before him, apprehensions began to awaken in his 
mind, partly arising out of Meg’s unusual kindness, which he could 
not help thinking had rather a suspicious appearance. He there- 
fore resolved to reload his pistols, lest the powder had become damp ; 
but what was his surprise, when he drew the charge, to find neither 
powder nor ball, while each barrel had been carefully filled with tow, 
up to the space which the loading had occupied! and, the priming of 
the weapons being left untouched, nothing but actually drawing and 
examining the charge could have discovered the inefficiency of his 
arms till the fatal minute arrived when their services were required. 
Charlie bestowed a hearty Liddesdale curse on his landlady, and re- 
loaded his pistols with care and accuracy, having now no doubt that 
he was to be waylaid and assaulted. He was not far engaged in the 

436 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


Waste, which was then, and is now, traversed only by such routes as 
are described in the text, when two or three fellows, disguised and 
variously armed, started from a moss-hag, while by a glance behind 
him (for, marching, as the Spaniard says, with his beard on his shoul- 
der, he reconnoitred in every direction) Charlie instantly saw retreat 
was impossible, as other two stout men appeared behind him at some 
distance. The Borderer lost not a moment in taking his resolution, 
and boldly trotted against his enemies in front, who called loudly on 
him to stand and deliver ; Charlie spurred on, and presented his pistol. 
‘ D — n your pistol,’ said the foremost robber, whom Charlie to his 
dying day protested he believed to have been the landlord of Mumps’s 
Ha’ — ‘ d — n your pistol ! I care not a curse for it.’ ‘ Ay, lad,’ said 
the deep voice of Fighting Charlie, ‘but the tow’s out now’ He 
had no occasion to utter another word; the rogues, surprised at find- 
ing a man of redoubted courage well armed, instead of being defence- 
less, took to the moss in every direction, and he passed on his way 
without farther molestation. 

The author has heard this story told by persons who received it 
from Fighting Charlie himself : he has also heard that Mumps’s Ha’ 
was afterwards the scene of some other atrocious villainy, for which 
the people of the house suffered. But these are all tales of at least 
half a century old, and the Waste has been for many years as safe as 
any place in the kingdom. 

Note 3. — Dandie Dinmont, p. 155 

The author may here remark that the character of Dandie Dinmont 
was drawn from no individual. A dozen, at least, of stout Liddesdale 
yeoman with whom he has been acquainted, and whose hospitality 
he has shared in his rambles through that wild country, at a time 
when it was totally inaccessible save in the manner described in the 
text, might lay claim to be the prototype of the rough, but faithful, 
hospitable, and generous farmer. But one circumstance occasioned 
the name to be fixed upon a most respectable individual of this class, 
now no more. Mr. James Davidson of Hindlee, a tenant of Lord 
Douglas, besides the points of blunt honesty, personal strength, and 
hardihood designed to be expressed in the character of Dandie Din- 
mont, had the humour of naming a celebrated race of terriers which 
he possessed by the generic names of Mustard and Pepper (accord- 
ing as their colour was yellow or greyish-black), without any other 
individual distinction except as according to the nomenclature in the 
text. Mr. Davidson resided at Hindlee, a wild farm on the very 
edge of the Teviotdale mountains, and bordering close on Liddesdale, 

437 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


where the rivers and brooks divide as they take their course to the 
Eastern and Western seas. His passion for the chase in all its forms, 
but especially for fox-hunting, as followed in the fashion described 
in chapter xxv., in conducting which he was skilful beyond most men 
in the South Highlands, was the distinguishing point in his character. 

When the tale on which these comments are written became rather 
popular, the name of Dandie Dinmont was generally given to him, 
which Mr. Davidson received with great good-humour, only saying, 
while he distinguished the author by the name applied to him in the 
country, where his own is so common — ‘ that the Sheriff had 
not written about him mair than about other folk, but only about his 
dogs.’ An English lady of high rank and fashion, being desirous to 
possess a brace of the celebrated Mustard and Pepper terriers, ex- 
pressed her wishes in a letter which was literally addressed to Dandie 
Dinmont, under which very general direction it reached Mr. Davidson, 
who was justly proud of the application, and failed not to comply with 
a request which did him and his fa vourite attendants so much honour. 

I trust I shall not be considered as offending the memory of a 
kind and worthy man, if I mention a little trait of character which 
occurred in Mr. Davidson’s last illness. I use the words of the ex- 
cellent clergyman who attended him, who gave the account to a rev- 
erend gentleman of the same persuasion : — 

‘ I read to Mr. Davidson the very suitable and interesting truths 
you addressed to him. He listened to them with great seriousness, 
and has uniformly displayed a deep concern about his soul’s salva- 
tion. He died on the first Sabbath of the year (1820) ; an apoplec- 
tic stroke deprived him in an instant of all sensation, but happily his 
brother was at his bedside, for he had detained him from the meeting- 
house that day to be near him, although he felt himself not much 
worse than usual. So you have got the last little Mustard that the 
hand of Dandie Dinmont bestowed. 

‘ His ruling passion was strong even on the eve of death. Mr. 
Baillie’s fox-hounds had started a fox opposite to his window a few 
weeks ago, and as soon as he heard the sound of the dogs his eyes 
glistened; he insisted on getting out of bed, and with much difficulty 
got to the window and there enjoyed the fun, as he called it. When 
I came down to ask for him, he said, “ he had seen Reynard, but had 
not seen his death. If it had been the will of Providence,” he added, 

‘‘ I would have liked to have been after him ; but I am glad that I 
got to the window, and am thankful for what I saw, for it has done 
me a great deal of good.” Notwithstanding these eccentricities (adds 
the sensible and liberal clergyman), I sincerely hope and believe he 
has gone to a better world, and better company and enjoyments.’ 

438 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 

If some part of this little narrative may excite a smile, it is one 
which IS consistent with the most perfect respect for the simple-minded 
invalid and his kind and judicious religious instructor, who, we hope, 
will not be displeased with our giving, we trust, a correct edition of 
an anecdote which has been pretty generally circulated. The race of 
Pepper and Mustard are in the highest estimation at this day, not only 
for vermin-killing, but for intelligence and fidelity. Those who, like 
the author, possess a brace of them, consider them as very desirable 
companions. 

Note 4. — Lum Cleeks, p. 167 

The cleek here intimated is the iron hook, or hooks, depending 
from the chimney of a Scottish cottage, on which the pot is sus- 
pended when boiling. The same appendage is often called the crook. 
The salmon is usually dried by hanging it up, after being split and 
rubbed with salt, in the smoke of the turf fire above the cleeks, where 
it is said to reist, that preparation being so termed. The salmon thus 
preserved is eaten as a delicacy, under the name of kipper, a luxury 
to which Dr. Redgill has given his sanction as an ingredient of the 
Scottish breakfast. — See the excellent novel entitled Marriage. 

Note 5. — Clan Surnames, p. 169 

The distinction of individuals by nicknames when they possess no 
property is still common on the Border, and indeed necessary, from 
the number of persons having the same name. In the small village 
of Lustruther, in Roxburghshire, there dwelt, in the memory of man, 
four inhabitants called Andrew, or Dandie, Oliver. They were dis- 
tinguished as Dandie Eassil-gate, Dandie Wassil-gate, Dandie 
Thumbie, and Dandie Dumbie. The two first had their names from 
living eastward and westward in the street of the village; the third 
from something peculiar in the conformation of his thumb ; the 
fourth from his taciturn habits. 

It is told as a well-known jest, that a beggar woman, repulsed from 
door to door as she solicited quarters through a village of Annan- 
dale, asked, in her despair, if there were no Christians in the place. 
To which the hearers, concluding that she inquired for some persons 
so surnamed, answered, ‘ Na, na, there are nae Christians here; we 
are 2! Johnstones and Jardines.’ 

Note 6. — Gipsy Superstitions, p. 176 

The mysterious rites in which Meg Merrilies is described as en- 
gaging belong to her character as a queen of her race. All know that 

439 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERTNG 


gipsies in every country claim acquaintance with the gift of fortune- 
telling; but, as is often the case, they are liable to the superstitions 
of which they avail themselves in others. The correspondent of 
Blackwood, quoted in the Introduction to this Tale, gives us some 
information on the subject of their credulity. 

‘ I have ever understood,’ he says, speaking of the Yetholm gipsies, 
‘that they are extremely superstitious, carefully noticing the forma- 
tion of the clouds, the flight of particular birds, and the soughing of 
the winds, before attempting any enterprise. They have been known 
for several successive days to turn back with their loaded carts, asses, 
and children, upon meeting with persons whom they considered of 
unlucky aspect ; nor do they ever proceed upon their summer pere- 
grinations without some propitious omen of their fortunate return. 
They also burn the clothes of their dead, not so much from any ap- 
prehension of infection being communicated by them, as the con- 
viction that the very circumstance of wearing them would shorten 
the days of the living. They likewise carefully watch the corpse by 
night and day till the time of interment, and conceive that “ the deil 
tinkles at the lykewake ” of those who felt in their dead-thraw the 
agonies and terrors of remorse.’ 

These notions are not peculiar to the gipsies ; but, having been 
once generally entertained among the Scottish common people, are 
now only found lingering among those who are the most rude in 
their habits and most devoid of instruction. The popular idea, that 
the protracted struggle between life and death is painfully prolonged 
by keeping the door of the apartment shut, was received as certain 
by the superstitious eld of Scotland. But neither was it to be thrown 
wide open. To leave the door ajar was the plan adopted by the old 
crones who understood the mysteries of death-beds and lykewakes. 
In that case there was room for the imprisoned spirit to escape; and 
yet an obstacle, we have been assured, was offered to the entrance of 
any frightful form which might otherwise intrude itself. The thresh- 
old of a habitation was in some sort a sacred limit, and the subject 
of much superstition. A bride, even to this day, is always lifted over 
it, a rule derived apparently from the Romans. 


Note 7. — High Jinks, p. 250 

I believe this strange species of game or revel to be the same men- 
tioned in old English plays, and which was called ‘ Coming from 
Tripoli.’ When the supposed king was seated in his post of elevation, 
the most active fellow in the party came into the presence, leaping 

440 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


over as many chairs and stools as he could manage to spring over. 
He is announced as 

A post — 

King. From whence? Post. From Tripoli, my liege. 

He then announces to the mock monarch the destruction of his army 
and fleet. This species of High Jinks was called ‘ Gerunto,’ from the 
name of the luckless general. I have seen many who have played at 
it. Among the rest an excellent friend and relative, now no more 
(the late Mr. Keith of Dunnottar and Ravelstone), gave me a ludi- 
crous account of a country gentleman coming up to Edinburgh rather 
unexpectedly, and finding his son, who he had hoped was diligently 
studying the law in silence and seclusion, busily engaged in per- 
sonating the king in a full drama of ‘ Gerunto.’ The monarch, some- 
what surprised at first, passed it off with assurance, calling for a 
seat to his worthy father, and refusing to accost him otherwise than 
in the slang of the character. This incident — in itself the more 
comic situation of the two — suggested the scene in the text. 

[The old play referred to in this note was probably Fletcher’s 
comedy of Monsieur Thomas, Act iv. Sc. 2. 

Se 6 . Get up to that window there, and presently. 

Like a most complete gentleman, come from Tripoly. 

Tho. Good Lord, sir, how are you misled ! What fancies — 

Fitter for idle boys and drunkards, let me speak’ t. 

Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, by Dyce, vol. vii. p. 376. 


The phrase To come on high from Tripoly is also to be found in 
Ben Jonson’s Silent Woman, Act v. Sc. i. — Laing.] 

Note 8.— Roads of Liddesdale, p. 274 

The roads of Liddesdale, in Dandie Dinmont’s days, could not be 
said to exist, and the district was only accessible through a succession 
of tremendous morasses. About thirty years ago the author himself 
was the first person who ever drove a little open carriage into these 
wilds, the excellent roads by which they are now traversed being then 
in some progress. The people stared with no small wonder at a sight 
which many of them had never witnessed in their lives before. 

Note 9.— Tappit Hen, p. 281 
The Tappit Hen contained three quarts of claret— 

Weel she loed a Hawick gill. 

And leugh to see a tappit hen. 


441 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


I have seen one of these formidable stoups at Provost HaswelFs, at 
Jedburgh, in the days of yore. It was a pewter measure, the claret 
being in ancient days served from the tap, and had the figure of a 
hen upon, the lid. In later times the name was given to a glass bottle 
of the same dimensions. These are rare apparitions among the de- 
generate topers of modern days. 


Note io. — Convivial Habits of the Scottish Bar, p. 281 

The account given by Mr. Pleydell of his sitting down in the midst 
of a revel to draw an appeal case was taken from a story told me by 
an aged gentleman of the elder President Dundas of Arniston (father 
of the younger President and of Lord Melville). It had been thought 
very desirable, while that distinguished lawyer was king’s counsel, 
that his assistance should be obtained in drawing an appeal case, 
which, as occasion for such writings then rarely occurred, was held 
to be matter of great nicety. The solicitor employed for the appel- 
lant, attended by my informant acting as his clerk, went to the Lord 
Advocate’s chambers in the Fishmarket Close, as I think. It was 
Saturday at noon, the Court was just dismissed, the Lord Advocate 
had changed his dress and booted himself, and his servant and horses 
were at the foot of the close to carry him to Arniston. It was scarcely 
possible to get him to listen to a word respecting business. The wily 
agent, however, on pretence of asking one or two questions, which 
would not detain him half an hour, drew his Lordship, who was no 
less an eminent bon vivant than a lawyer of unequalled talent, to 
take a whet at a celebrated tavern, when the learned counsel became 
gradually involved in a spirited discussion of the law points of the 
case. At length it occurred to him that he might as well ride to Ar- 
niston in the cool of the evening. The horses were directed to be put 
in the stable, but not to be unsaddled. Dinner was ordered, the law 
was laid aside for a time, and the bottle circulated very freely. At 
nine o’clock at night, after he had been honouring Bacchus for so many 
hours, the Lord Advocate ordered his horses to be unsaddled; paper, 
pen, and ink were brought; he began to dictate the appeal case, and 
continued at his task till four o’clock the next morning. By next 
day’s post the solicitor sent the case to London, a chef-d'oeuvre of 
its kind ; and in which, my informant assured me, it was not necessary 
on revisal to correct five words. I am not, therefore, conscious of 
having overstepped accuracy in describing the manner in which Scot- 
tish lawyers of the old time occasionally united the worship of Bac- 
chus with that of Themis. My informant was Alexander Keith, Esq., 

442 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


grandfather to my friend, the present Sir Alexander Keith of Ravel- 
stone, and apprentice at the time to the writer who conducted the 
cause. [Compare Lockhart’s Life of Scott, vol. i. pp. 281-288.] 


Note ii. — Gipsy Cooking, p. 337 

We must again have recourse to the contribution to Blackwood’s 
Magazine, April 1817: — 

To the admirers of good eating, gipsy cookery seems to have little 
to recommend it. I can assure you, however, that the cook of a no- 
bleman of high distinction, a person who never reads even a novel 
without an eye to the enlargement of the culinary science, has added 
to the Almanack des Gourmands a certain Potage a la Meg Merrilies 
de Derncleugh, consisting of game and poultry of all kinds, stewed 
with vegetables into a soup, which rivals in savour and richness the 
gallant messes of Camacho’s wedding; and which the Baron of Brad- 
wardine would certainly have reckoned among the epulce lautiores.’ 

The artist alluded to in this passage is Mons. Florence, cook to 
Henry and Charles, late Dukes of Buccleuch, and of high distinction 
in his profession. 


Note 12. — Lord Monboddo, p. 360 

The Burnet whose taste for the evening meal of the ancients is 
quoted by Mr. Pleydell was the celebrated metaphysician and excellent 
man. Lord Monboddo, whose ccence will not be soon forgotten by those 
who have shared his classic hospitality. As a Scottish judge he took 
the designation of his family estate. His philosophy, as is well known, 
was of a fanciful and somewhat fantastic character; but his learning 
was deep, and he was possessed of a singular power of eloquence, 
which reminded the hearer of the os rotundum of the Grove or 
Academe. Enthusiastically partial to classical habits, his entertain- 
ments were always given in the evening, when there was a circulation 
of excellent Bordeaux, in flasks garlanded with roses, which were 
also strewed on the table after the manner of Horace. The best so- 
ciety, whether in respect of rank or literary distinction, was always 
to be found in St. John’s Street, Canongate. The conversation of the 
excellent old man, his high, gentlemanlike, chivalrous spirit, the 
learning and wit with which he defended his fanciful paradoxes, the 
kind and liberal spirit of his hospitality, must render these nodes 
coenceque dear to all who, like the author (though then young), had 
the honour of sitting at his board. 

443 


NOTES TO GUY MANNERING 


Note 13. — Lawyers’ Sleepless Nights, p. 363 

It is probably true, as observed by Counsellor Pleydell, that a law- 
yer’s anxiety about his case, supposing him to have been some time 
in practice, will seldom disturb his rest or digestion. Clients will, 
however, sometimes fondly entertain a different opinion. I was told 
by an excellent judge, now no more, of a country gentleman who, 
addressing his leading counsel, my informer, then an advocate in 
great practice, on the morning of the day on which the case was to be 
pleadeji, said, with singular bonhomie, ‘Weel, my Lord (the counsel 
was Lord Advocate), the awful day is come at last. I have nae 
been able to sleep a wink for thinking of it; nor, I daresay, your 
Lordship either.’ 


Note 14. — Whistling, p. 377 

Whistling, among the tenantry of a large estate, is when an indi- 
vidual gives such information to the proprietor or his managers as 
to occasion the rent of his neighbours’ farms being raised, which, for 
obvious reasons, is held a very unpopular practice. 


Note 15. — Herezeld, p. 414 

This hard word is placed in the mouth of one of the aged tenants. 
In the old feudal tenures the herezeld, the best horse or other animal 
on the vassals’ lands, became the right of the superior. The only rem- 
nant of this custom is what is called the sasine, or a fee of certain 
estimated value, paid to the sheriff of the county, who gives posses- 
sion to the vassals of the crown. 


Note 16. — The Gad, p. 425 

This mode of securing prisoners was universally practised in Scot- 
land after condemnation. When a man received sentence of death 
he was put upon the gad, as it was called, that is, secured to the bar 
of iron in the manner mentioned in the text. The practice subsisted 
in Edinburgh till the old jail was taken down some years since, and 
perhaps may be still [1829] in use. 


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